Game of Thrones: Tale of Duncan Westford
by ThatShieldGuy
Summary: In the song of Ice and Fire, of a land tortured by a game of thrones; there is a young man stuck in the middle. Of a dying house gifted by a man not even of his own blood, Duncan Westford must forge his own path in the seven kingdoms of Westeros and prove that among stags, dragons, direwolves, and lions; a butcher's ward can become a player. (On Hiatus)
1. Chapter 1

**So. A Game of Thrones fanfiction. Never thought I would be doing something like this, but I guess the urge just sprung up on me and wouldn't leave me until I acted on it. To be honest, it wasn't that hard not to get into something like Game of Thrones. It is pretty bloody awesome with the books, tv show, fanfiction, and even a game that it produced back in 2012! Which is why I'm going to be using all three, discounting fanfiction for the obvious reasons, for my story. That means there will be a rather massive hodgepodge of lore from all sources crammed into one fanfiction, so be prepared for it. Sorry to an elitists who wish my to stay directly true to the books or the tv show, or even the bloody 2012 video game! I just want to make an interesting fanfiction with many sources of lore and story to make it seem interesting. Which I hope it will as there is a good chance this will end up as a dumpster fire, or turn into an amazing fanfiction that will rival Robb Returns. I highly doubt on the latter but it is always good to strive to some kind of goal! Anyways, I'll stop talking and let you all read the first chapter of my fanfiction. I hope you all enjoy!**

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**_Chapter One: A Butcher's Ward_**

The year is 298 AC in the ancient continent of Westeros, a land of seven kingdoms ruled by a house of a crowned stag for seventeen years. It was once originally ruled by a house of a three-headed dragon, a dynasty that had ruled Westeros for nearly three hundred years before being overthrow by the stag after a dragon had kidnapped and raped a direwolf promised to the stag's heart. The land is one where all is born and molded by callous bloodshed, where most men and women die for reasons they don't even know and for golden causes full of venom and vice. And yet the blood shed has given a land of beauty and prosperity; where a stag can drink, gamble, and whore its way into an early grave while a father of a robin keeps the land together. That is not even mentioning a wall made of ice and old magic, standing stalwart in the far north with men covered in black to protect it from beings not of the living world nor the seven kingdoms.

Of stags, dragons, direwolves, and robins; one wonders what of the little people that populate Westeros? What of the farmers, lumberjacks, merchants, tailors, soldiers, and the many others that make up the many kingdoms of this ancient land? Could they be stags, dragons, and direwolves as well? Could they rule a land of seven kingdoms, born and molded out of blood and vice? Only the butcher knows, for the butcher cares not for who he carves and cuts. He may take many forms but he will always desire blood. Blood is the butcher's trade, and blood rules Westeros. Does this make the butcher the crowned stag, the three-headed dragon, the cold direwolf, or even the sweet robin?! Or… Is the butcher above all as his belief on who has the crown determines who rules the land of seven kingdoms…?

It matters not for one small "family" for the Butcher has put his sword aside to raise a ward born of blood. A ward born of blood, fire, and death.

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Deep within a forest in the Riverlands, hidden from the Kingsroad and from meddling eyes that faintly poke at the land's fertile fields, was a cottage weathered by time and worn by use. It was a rather impressive cottage, speaking of its design coming from wealthy roots; most likely from one of the noble houses of Westeros. The cottage had a small garden sown into the soil next to it with a tiny enclosure that kept a family of rabbits bred for meat and furs. A little bit off of the cottage was a river with a dock and a small boat full of fishing supplies. Not far off from the dock were two graves, adorn with worn wooden markers. Each of the graves had a tiny bundle of flowers on them, gestures of remembrance and love to the departed.

The light shined through the cottage's windows and onto the face of a young man, who groaned as the light began to woke him up. The boy was certainly young, ten and five moons old, and he still had faint traces of childhood fat in the more sharper parts of his features. He was black of hair with soft grey eyes that harshly squinted against the shining light of the sun, letting out another groan as his body slowly woke itself up. He sat himself up on his bed, yawning as swung his legs onto the hard wooden floor below. The young man began to dress himself, putting on homemade clothing made out of roughly spun cloth mixed with furs. Once dressed, the boy walked to the door of his room and opened it.

He entered a large room that contained many different items, but three drew the young man's attention the most. Sitting next to the cooking cauldron was two beings, both elders of the world. Sitting on a wooden chair, stirring a rather wonderfully smelling stew, was an old man. His entire face was made of scar tissue, old cuts and rips made by weapons of war were etched deep in his ancient skin. He had only one eye, the other gouged out by what would be guessed as a burning blade of some kind; which left a disturbing black gap of an eye socket. The man wore no clothes, instead what appeared to be a kind of leather armor mixed with a gambeson. Tied to his belt was a longsword, obviously well-used and well-maintained. The air around the man told of an untold danger, of that innate instinct that warned all to stay away should they die by the being's hands. Sitting by his side was an old hound of some unknown breed, most likely mixed with dozens of other dogs to create what it currently is. It too was scarred and its eyes were beginning to silver while its fur turned white. When it flashed its teeth, they were worn yet sharp; like a freshly sharpened blade eager to drink blood. It too had they same air of danger as the old man did, and yet it seemed comfortable and relaxed in the man's presence; like they trusted each other. The two seemed to be one of the same in a way, beings greying and yet dangerous to all who dare to approach them.

"About time you got up, Duncan. Stew's been ready for a good while now." The old man's words were harsh, akin to stone scraping on a man's flesh during a harsh landing. "Get the bowls and spoons. We need to talk."

"Yes, Uncle Mors." The young man, Duncan was his name, said with a nod; walking across the room to grab two sets of wooden bowls and their accompanying spoons of metal surprisingly. The young man set gave one set to the old man, Mors was his name, before scooping his share of the stew into his own bowl. He swiftly took a seat near the old man, waiting for Mors to take the first bite before he did. Mors retrieved his share of the stew, making sure to drop several meat chunks beside the hound by his side for it to eat; which it did with gusto!

Mors took the first bite, staying silent as he ate his meal. Duncan followed, wolfing down his stew in silence as he waited for his "Uncle" to speak. The young man was done first, setting his bowl aside to grab one of the hard breads that laid in a nearby bowl to settle his stomach with. As he gingerly chewed the item, Mors finished his own stew. He set the bowl aside and clasped his hands together, looking at Duncan.

"You're almost a man now, Duncan. Your sixteenth nameday is fast approaching, which makes you a man by all accounts of Westeros' laws and cultures. But we both know that you are already ready to leave the cottage." Mors said, his voice solemn as he watched Duncan choke a bit of the hard bread.

Duncan smacked his chest to force down the bread before looking at the old man with narrowed eyes, saying "I know Uncle. I can take care of myself when the Black Men come. I've been taking care of myself for five moons now." The young man could easily remember the "Black Men" that attacked the cottage at least once every year. They would come for Mors, eager for his death for some unknown reason to Duncan. They would always be dressed in some kind of black; whether it be a cape, clothing, or even heraldry adorn on their armor! Why would nobles try to kill his Uncle? But, Mors would always slay them all to their screams of "Butcher" and "Traitor". To Duncan, his Uncle was no traitor or butcher, though the latter could be debated…

"No pup… I meant, permanently." With this admission, Duncan was surprised. He was going to leave and never come back?! He liked living here, and he loved living with his Uncle! Why on earth would he ever leave?

"Why...? Can't I live here for the rest of my life with you?" By now, Duncan had set aside the bread he was eating on the wooden table. He was upset that such an idea even entered the old man's head. Why did Mors want him to go?

"I wish pup… I wish you could, but you must go." Mors himself seemed a bit sad, almost regretful that he was saying such a thing. But under that regret was a sense of purpose, and tiredness. "A pup will always leave the pack one day to find his own destiny, and it is time for you to do so. A little bird told me a type of destiny was soon to approach you, and you deserve better than what will come."

"Little bird"? What on earth was his Uncle talking about? Duncan only frowned as Mors went on, standing up to look outside of the window as he spoke. "Not only that, but they are coming as well."

"The Black Men?! But they already came just a few days ago. They shouldn't bother us until the next moon!" Duncan said in worried amazement, leaning forward on the table with a hand steadying him. The young man remembered the day well as he had woken up by the Black Men's screaming his Uncle's name. "Mors Westford! Come out and face us, you traitor!" they called out, to which the old man answered by slaughtering them all with his sword. Duncan hid under the bed at his Uncle's demands, even though the young man offered his own services to help Mors fight off the Black Men. Mors had trained Duncan in the art of combat, and Duncan wanted to help his Uncle and show that his training was for naught! Yet, Mors kept Duncan away from the battlefield. The old man let the aging dog join him battle, but not the young man full of vigor?! That made no common sense in Duncan's eyes!

"They did, and they are coming in a few short hours soon. The Dog saw them, like it always does. This wave is bigger than any of the others, and there will be no way I can survive." Mors admitted, placing a hand on his sword's pommel as he glared through the glass. Mors always had a strange connection with his hound, almost as if he could jump into the beast's skin for a short time to see and do what it can see and do. It amazed Duncan most times, while it also scared him other times. This was one of those fear-inducing times…

"Then let me fight this time! You don't have to-"

"No! You will leave on the hour, and that is it!" Mors' voice echoed throughout the cottage, stopping any chance of an argument that Duncan may of had with the surge of danger that the old man's aura gave. Even the dog had raised its head to look at its master, only for a few moments before going back to resting on the floor.

"I know you wish to fight with me, but this wave will swallow both you and I. Even if we try to run, they will find us and we will die. There will be no victory, only death, and I will be damned to the Seven Hells before I dishonor myself with your death! Our motto is 'Death over dishonor', and I will not dishonor both you and I with your death at the hands of murderers, thieves, and rapists. So you will go to your room, pack things you will need on your journey to find your destiny while I pack your rations for you, and leave before they arrive. Do you understand me Duncan Westford?"

"Yes sir…" Duncan growled out, obviously unhappy at the choice made for him by his Uncle. He wanted to fight! He wanted his Uncle to live and be by his side, and yet if Mors was right then there was no hope for such a dream to exist. Why did such evil men take away Duncan's dream of peace by being with his Uncle and his pet dog in this little cottage in the middle of the Riverlands? Duncan would never get an answer, would he? No… He won't get an answer.

Duncan silently stood up and walked back to his room, shutting the door behind him, and let out a sigh. He wanted to cry, he truly did. But he would know that Mors would be disgusted with the young man if he did that. He was suppose to be strong! He was suppose to be tough and mature, not able to cry by any means whatsoever. So he didn't cry, just rubbed his eyes until the tears went away. Once they went away, Duncan went to work with what he needed to do. He grabbed a small travel sack and placed it on his bed. He opened it up, peering inside to see what he already had inside it. He had a travel blanket, a thick cloak used for either the winter or rain, and rock. The young man took the rock out of the bag and began to put stuff into the empty space. He stored clothes, both summer and winter variations, into the bag. He stopped at the final object he was about to place in the sack. It was a bolt of blue cloth, almost a small scarf, with a black hound on the center of the blue field the color made. Duncan let out a sigh as he looked at his Uncle's family crest, which was his own crest as well.

Duncan set the scarf aside before closing the travel sack, tying the tie tight so nothing could spill out of it. The young man then turned his head to a worn chest resting in the corner of his room, to which he gently walked over and opened. Inside the chest was Duncan's armor, painstakingly made by his Uncle. It was a simple set of common infantry armor, secretly holding several improvements made by Mors himself. The gambeson had chainmail woven into it, the vambraces wrapped all around Duncan's forearms, the leggings were baggy for easy movement, and several other tiny improvements that aided the young man in combat; with the biggest being it easy enough to be put on by Duncan himself.

Duncan put on the armor, letting the leather and metal rest on his skin and clothing as he got ready to leave his home. It didn't take long for the young man to dress himself, finishing it off by wrapping the blue scarf around his neck. Once finished, he grabbed his travel sack and opened his door once more. He entered the main room, and looked for his Uncle. He raised his eyebrows when he saw the old man laying out three items on the table. One item was a shield with a broken sword resting in a red field painted on its front, a strange heraldry that Duncan had rarely seen in his Uncle's hands. The other item was a sword with a blade as clean as silver, and yet seemingly as strong as steel. Duncan had only ever seen that sword once in his life, and that was back when he was only six moons of age. The other item was a sack, which Duncan could guess was full of food and drink that he would be needing for his travels. But with those two earlier items out, the young man wondered if Mors was truly willing to pass them onto the boy as Duncan walked over to the old man.

"My old comrade, one who is now one with fire, had this shield in his family for many years; only passing it to me on his death. It is a good shield, sturdy and strong. It will protect you." Mors said as he grabbed the item and placed it in Duncan's hands. Duncan shouldered the shield with a strap that it had, throwing it over his right shoulder without much trouble. "And this blade… I won this blade off of a true knight after defeating him in a duel, at the behest of a spider. It is Valyrian Steel, pup. Be wise and honorable when you wield it, for it will cut through all regardless of who they may be; even if they be a shadow of demonic evil. I know of that all too well…"

"I will, Uncle… I'm going to miss you, you know?" Duncan whispered as he took the sword's black handle, attaching its scabbard to his belt so he may carry the wondrous blade. He truly was going to miss Mors, whether or not the old man wanted him to. He was the only family he knew, and he was saying goodbye to the Uncle that raised and loved him.

"I know, pup. I know… Let us just hope we meet again in the next life. Even if you are not of my blood, you will always be considered a Westford." The old man's frown softened as he grabbed the young man by the shoulders and pulled him into a hug. A hug that had the old man feel his shirt grow wet with tears of silent sobs. "Stay clear of Tywin Lannister and his ilk, especially the 'Mountain' that is his terror. If you do encounter them, or become an item of attention; do everything you can to escape their rotting claws. Be wary of any of the Night's Watch that speak of my name, especially if they call me 'The Butcher'. Most of all, do not go to the Wall nor Kings' Landing; especially near the Red Keep. A spider waits for a pup such as you to be ensnared by its web."

"I-I will… I love you, Uncle!"

"I do to… Now go, Duncan Westford! Make your own destiny in this the game of thrones that Westeros is plunged into." With that, the young man swiftly left the cottage and began to head down a beaten dirt path into the forest. Duncan Westford was now free from Mors' hands, hands that promised to protect him. Hands that promised and failed to protect his mother…

It didn't take long for the Night's Watch to arrive after Duncan had left, yelling out the usual "Mors Westford! Come out and face us, you traitor!" The old man answered them as always, a sword in his hands and his forever loyal hound by his side. Mors stood near the doorway to the cottage as he examined the group that had come to kill him. Over fifty men, of all kinds of backgrounds. There were agents of the Night's Watch, sellswords, and even Lannister soldiers. It seems like Tywin has found him at last, the ruthless tyrant that he is…

"Mors Westford! Lay down your sword and submit to your crimes of desertion and murdering your fellow brothers! We will give you a proper and respectful death if you do! Resist and be put to the sword!"

This time around, his hands would fulfill their promise. It will truly be Death Over Dishonor…

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**So. I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter of the fanfiction! I normally don't do third person all that much, rather doing first person, but I think this fanfiction would be better if done in third person. What do you guys think? Be sure to leave reviews so I know that I'm the right track with this fanfiction and all that. I really do appreciate them, especially if it helps me write a better fanfiction as a result! I also won't do author notes like this every chapter like I usually do in my other fanfictions as well. I figured that no one would really want to read what I got to say EVERY chapter. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed and I'll see you when the next chapter comes out! See you next time!**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter Two: A Sellsword's Coin_**

It had been several days since Duncan Westford, a young man of ten and five moons, left his Uncle Mors at their cottage to die at the hands of the Night's Watch. It still felt surreal to him, roaming all alone in the beaten dirt roads and lone farmsteads that made up the Riverlands' more desolate regions. He had no real goal in mind. No destination or dream to pursue in the seven kingdoms, nor even the Free Cities beyond! He was just a lost lamb, a prime target for any with their own dreams and goals in mind. Whether it be to use a fresh sword to the cause, or simply a fresh purse to obtain for a night of drinking, feasting, and whoring. It truly depended on the person at hand in every case.

Though… Duncan had no purse to offer. He never had need of coin before! Him and his Uncle had always fended for themselves with what Westeros' nature offered to them. Well, the old man did use all of the coin he had taken before taking charge of the young man. Most of it went into materials for Duncan's armor, and once upon a time a family of pigs to raise to add fresh pork alongside their meals of venison. Wolves took care of that dream rather quickly however, so rabbits and other types of venison remained as their main source of meat.

But that was in the past. Duncan had to look to the future now, an uncertain future where he had no dreams or goals in mind other than survive. Survive and try to live a life that would make his Uncle proud of him. What would make his Uncle proud…? Would it be making the house of Westford a name that all knew and respected? Would it be becoming part of the famous King's Guard that were sources of stories that all of Westeros would know? Would it be just marrying a woman he loved and settling down someplace to live a life of peace?

Does Duncan even need to worry doing such a thing with his Uncle now dead?! It would give me peace of mind in such a turbulent time, a time where a dreamless boy must make his own destiny in the bloody seven kingdoms of Westeros. Which brings his state of mind back to the present…

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Duncan Westford grunted as he pulled himself up and over the hill's ledge, landing on the other side in a puff of dust and dirt as the sun shined high in the noon sky. He had set a goal in mind when he had first left, something simple and easy for him to do. Get to the Kingsroad. That was something very easy and simple to obtain, and it wouldn't look out of the ordinary for a lone man, rather young, to simply walk along. If what his Uncle said about the Kingsroad to be true, then it should be relatively safe to travel along. Safe enough that a young maid in her maiden suit could walk the road without fear of losing her maidenhood to others of malicious intent. If a naked girl could walk the Kingsroad without fear, then an armed man such as Duncan could easily travel the road!

"Come on, Duncan… Let's find the nearest village and see what we can do." The young man said to himself as he stood up, dusting his pants off as best as he could before beginning to walk on the road. As he walked, he listened to the cheery songs and sounds of the wildlife that swirled around him in the forest all around him. Birds were singing, rabbits were feasting, deer were playing, and other creatures were doing what they normally did as young man of Westford marched down the cobblestone road.

He continued to walk for a good hour, never letting up as he kept up the march to his new destination in mind. He did not care what village he arrived at. It could be a prosperous town of wealth and joy, or a desolate hamlet of poverty and despair. Any would do, and he would accept them all regardless. A location that wasn't his cottage was a new sight for him, even if he had seen it in paintings or books before. Nothing could truly beat feasting his eyes on the things before him.

He began to slow down when he spotted brightly colored banners in the distance, barely hidden by a cloud of dust. Eventually, a large caravan of armed men escorting a rather exquisite wheelhouse finely crafted and made. It almost didn't seem like it should have been driven with how beautiful it looks!

Duncan soon steered himself to the side of the Kingsroad and came to a stop to watch the caravan journey past the young man. When they neared his position, Duncan could finally see the colors they presented in the wind. They were a black stag with a crown around its neck, standing in a golden field, and a golden lion standing in a bright red field. Those banners signaled that they were two of the most powerful houses, according to his Uncle. They were the House Baratheon and the House Lannister, which meant only one thing.

The young man felt his jaw drop as he watched a rather portly man riding a horse pass on by, giving only a glance at Duncan's form before turning his attention back to the road ahead, while surrounded by knights wearing bright white armor. It was Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm; riding alongside his famous King's Guard that contained such names like Barristan the Bold, Mandon Moore, and even the infamous Kingslayer less-known as Jaime Lannister. Which meant the wheelhouse carried King Robert's wife, Cersei Lannister, and the royal children destined to lead the seven kingdoms after their father's death.

The caravan didn't stop to take notice of the young man watching them with amazement, though a window did open to reveal a rather young face of a boy, his hair akin to gold itself, that waved at Duncan with a smile almost bigger than his face. Duncan couldn't help but smile and wave back at the young boy, most certainly the youngest prince of the royal family. Their interactions were cut short, sadly, by the sounds of a woman ordering the boy to get back inside the wheelhouse and to close the window; to which the young child dutifully did.

The King, his royal escort, and the wheelhouse swiftly became distant from Duncan as it marched to the North; to the land of the direwolf and of the Wall. Duncan could only wonder why the King and his family were heading to the North as he went back to his own march. It was certainly a strange sight to see just shortly before his Uncle's death, but it was not unwelcomed. In fact, Duncan felt like such a sight was a good omen for the days to come. Maybe he will find his place in a realm of continued peace, and maybe his dreams will be that of peace as well…

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Duncan Westford stumbled onto a small village, barely one hundred souls living in the hamlet, once the sun began to turn orange in the sky and darkness began to settle onto the seven kingdoms of Westeros. It was just a little ways off of the Kingsroad, and it was a small place despite its rather busy location. Duncan wondered if this place was even named or was something that recognized by the seven kingdoms. It wouldn't surprise him if they didn't due to how small the place was. The village was a bit rough, obviously not all that wealthy nor was the populace worthy of some kind of militia or guards to protect it. The only thing that was "protecting" the place was a wall in a state of deep disrepair. So poor was its condition that a strong gust of wind could easily push it onto its side! But, that was not Duncan's concern at the moment. His concern was to find a place to sleep and get fresh, hot food in his belly.

As he walked through the village, trying to find an inn or resting place of some kind; he stumbled upon a large and noisy crowd gathered by what appeared to be the village's main hall in a circle. Curious at what may have gathered such a large crowd, Duncan joined them and slowly made his way to the front to view what the crowd had circled around in front of the main hall. Once he arrived, he spotted two groups in intense argument with each other; most certainly the source of the disturbance.

One group was lead by a young man with a scruffy beard and an axe, far older than Duncan but not old enough to be considered middle-aged. Two other men flanked the bearded man, a rather dejected person carrying a poorly made spear and a young man around Duncan's age with hair of gold and a set of daggers on his belt alongside a sword. The other group were simply several old men, their beards and hair white with age and almost all seemingly looking the same. The two sides were in intense discussion, mainly the bearded man and one of the old men leading the discussion with their partners chipping in occasionally. Intrigued by the sight, Duncan listened in close to the heated argument that the two sides were in.

"-And you would be satisfied with having our women raped and our children sold to foreign soil; all because you wouldn't raise a finger?! Even the bloody Lannister knows such a thought is foolish, and such foolish thoughts must be thrown to the side. We must fight back, or else we will continue to suffer under their hands!" The bearded man passionately cried out at the old man, the golden haired boy behind him grumbling at the mention of "Lannister". Was he truly a Lannister, or was it just an undesired nickname due to his appearance?

"Do you not remember what happened when we fought back, all those years ago? All who men resisted were put to the sword while their women were raped and any children they deemed useless were tortured to death! You watched your brother have his limbs ripped off and your sister lose her maidenhood before having a dagger thrust through her eye, and you still desire to fight after that?! You are mad, Ragnar! Truly mad!" The old man countered, earning agreeable grumbles from his comrades after he spoke.

"Who wouldn't wish to kill the men who did such a thing? I know not one man, other than you…"

"We simply wish for survival, and you wish for our destruction. None know how to truly fight, and they most certainly will not be able to after eight days of training. Besides, who will be able to teach those who can fight? There is none here, and there may be none near here in eight days times!"

"Sellswords and other men of work often travel the Kingsroad near here, so it wouldn't be hard to ask for one's services! Besides, we need not many warriors. All we need is some kind of plan that will give us an assured victory. If we win, then our village will not subjected to their cruelty anymore."

"...There is one over there right now, ya know? We could ask him to help us…" Duncan blinked in surprise when the dejected spear-wielder pointed at him, directing the two parties' attentions onto the young man. Ragnar smiled at the sight of Duncan while the old man sighed and shook his head in despair, all the while Duncan was awkwardly standing there with all eyes on him.

"Perfect! We have such a man suited for the task. We simply need to pay him and he will help us."

"He is too young, Ragnar. I don't even think he is ten and six moons yet!"

"Which only proves that he must be skilled to be a sellsword at such a young age. Say, sellsword: what is your name?"

"D-Duncan. Duncan Westford is my name." Duncan answers, still surprised that they already think so highly of him despite only being here for less than a day. Was their situation so desperate that a young man such as Duncan was a angel sent by the Seven in their eyes?! To the Westford boy, it certainly seemed that way with how Ragnar silenced the old man's objections with a wave of his hand before speaking.

"Ser Westford! We need your help. Bandits have long plagued our village, and they have now overstayed their welcome. They are coming to collect "rent" in eight days, and we desire to fight back. I will give you all of my Stags, all fifty of them, if you aid us in defeating them!" Ragnar looked pleadingly at Duncan, who was taken aback at how eloquent Ragnar's request had become. It was as if he was some kind of noble pleading to the destined hero to save the world from the evil White Walkers of old!

Duncan merely shrugged and said "Okay… I'll do it, I guess?" He was really in over his head, but there was no way he could turn down such a request after being lauded as the essential hero that will save the village from the bandits. In a way, the young man sort of wanted this. He was going to help others fight off those who would only seek harm for others, something that his Uncle always hated; especially those who were secretive about such actions.

"Excellent! We shall start tomorrow morning. For now, you best rest up Ser Westford. We need you bright and clear to aid us tomorrow. I have a spare room in my home that you can use, along with some old bowl of brown if you are hungry! I just need to warm it up, that is all. Let us save this village!"

"You are making a terrible mistake, Ragnar… A terrible mistake…" And with that, the town began to head to their respective homes and hovels to sleep the night away; Duncan following after the joyful Ragnar as the man lead the Westford boy to his home. Duncan was scared. He was scared that he would fail these folk, especially after seeing such hope in Ragnar's face. What made him trust the young man so easily? Was he truly that desperate to slay these bandits that had taken his family away from him, or was there some other reason? Duncan could only think and guess as he ate a mysterious bowl of stew and settled in for the night, laying in a foreign bed in a foreign place that was not his cottage.

Duncan missed his Uncle Mors… He would have known what to do in situations like this! He would have, if only he was still alive…


	3. Chapter 3

**So. Welcome back to another chapter of my Game of Thrones fanfiction! I'll be honest when I say that I did not expect how popular, if you can call it that, this fanfiction got in just a few short days. Over two hundred people have read it, along with two favorites, one follower, and one review as of me writing this and/or submitting this as the next chapter! It usually takes my stories about a week at most to get such results. As such, I'm pretty happy that I've managed to achieve such numbers in a good few days. I'm hope I can keep all of your expectations with my story as you all read it. Before I stop talking and let you all read the third chapter of the fanfiction, I would like to answer the lone review I got.**

**ShadyBlazin: I'm glad you like the fanfiction so far! I too agree that there should be more OC stories that are centered around minor houses, both canon and created, of Westeros. I feel like that is a massive gold mine just waiting to be tapped! As for the Valyrian Steel sword, there is actually a reason for why Duncan got it as it ties into his Uncle Mors' past; along with the old man's implied ability as a warg. As for the topic on Duncan becoming a warg… Maybe. I won't say a definitive answer as that could ruin some potential future elements of the story. I'm sorry about that, but I hope my answers came off satisfactory and that you can understand where I'm coming from. I hope you keep on enjoying the fanfiction! **

**Alright. I'll stop talking now so you all can read the newest chapter of my Game of Thrones fanfiction. I hope you all enjoy. Talk to you all at the next set of Author's Notes, and see you all at the next chapter. Just a reminder, feel free to review like ShadyBlazin did. I can always use advice and criticism to better improve this story. Goodbye and enjoy!**

* * *

_**Chapter Three: Seven Days for One Battle**_

Seven days to prepare a group of villagers to defeat a clan of about thirty bandits was the time limit Duncan had when he woke up the next morning. Seven days to turn men and boys of all ages and occupations into some kind of warriors that can defeat a bandit in combat with poorly made or makeshift weapons while wearing makeshift armor. Duncan found it a bit ironic with the time limit he had to essentially save this little nameless village. Seven Gods and Goddesses and seven days… Certainly the Warrior, or maybe the Father, was having a proper fit of humor at a situation such as this! Duncan certainly wasn't as he was terrified at failing such a task. If he failed, the village would most certainly be razed to the ground and the young man would have his head adorning a spike somewhere. Now that wasn't a pleasant prospect at all…

As such, Duncan did his absolute best to uphold the task he had accepted. One the first day, Duncan examined the current skills of about twenty that had the potential to actually be able to fight. Ragnar was the first anomaly as he showed off some skills with his axe, more skill than the young man thought he had to be honest. Next was that spear-wielder that was by Ragnar's side, his name apparently Toiia Rivers which meant he was a bastard of the Riverlands. His skill with a spear was rather pretty professional, like he had been a soldier once but lack of practice and time had rusted his skills back to a novice's level. And the final anomaly was the supposed Lannister, his name being Hof. He was the most skilled out of everyone with his knives in both the art of throwing and stabbing, and even had some ability in average swordplay! Those three were only really the ones who had some chance of winning in a fight, Hof having the highest chance out of the three. The rest of the "recruits" were terrible at the art of combat! Duncan was going to have his hands full just being able to train them, much less be able to train the three anomalies at the same time! But, he had to as he had given his word to do so. He obeyed the Westford motto, so he would rather die than dishonor himself as such.

The second day was spent getting some manner of weapons and armor for them all to use; which they managed to find a good amount of gambesons and leather armor along with some old swords and spears. Only Toiia had his own set of armor, and that came with its own set problems! It was in poor condition, and it beared the crest of the House Targaryen; the dynasty that had ruled Westeros until King Robert, First of his Name, overthrew them and did/ordered the slaughter of most of the entire dynasty. Apparently only two Targaryens survived the purge: a young girl and a young man called the "Beggar King". Anyways, Duncan had to step in and stop some of the recruits from trying to kill Toiia due to his "past loyalties". The young man honestly didn't care what armor Toiia wore. Armor was armor, and that was all it was. It didn't stop five of the recruits from deserting, leaving only fifteen left to fight the bandits. Duncan knew their chances of victory had just shortened in the numbers area, but increased in the training area as it meant less people to train!

The third day was spent in two parts. The first part was making a plan against the incoming bandits so the battle could be in their favor at the start. The plan was simple for what it was, but still a decent plan. A small group would lure the bandits into a narrow area where the rest of the villagers would flank the enemy and pin them into a killing field from all around. Would the plan actually work to what Duncan and the others had made it as such? That had yet to be seen, but the young man was hopeful that the plan would work. The second part was simply training with weapons, which went as well as Duncan expected from a bunch of farmers who some didn't even know how to properly hold a sword so it didn't stab them!

The fourth, fifth, and sixth day was completely and utterly spent on training the recruits into viable warriors that could handle some manner of combat. Many of them limped from the training covered in bruises and sore from the ruthless training regime Duncan had put them all into. For Duncan, the regime was the same his Uncle Mors had put him through when he asked to learn how to fight back when he had been ten and three moons old. It was certainly a difficult program to follow, but the young man had gotten use to it as Mors didn't coddle the boy at all while training him. He was sort of amazed at how skilled his Uncle could be at times when Duncan watched the old man practice all by himself. His attacks were faster than lightning strikes themselves and twice as powerful with how much wind they picked up! Sometimes, after finishing a set, Duncan would hear his Uncle whisper to himself. He would always whisper "You're still good enough, Butcher. You're still good." Duncan always wondered why Mors Westford would call himself "Butcher", but Duncan never asked as his Uncle really didn't like to talk about his past. The young man always wondered what his Uncle did before living in the cottage with him and he wondered if he should be worried about that hidden past.

The seventh day was a rest day, a day to pray and hope that they would win against the bandits that were coming the next day. Duncan was afraid of the chances they had against the bandits. His allies were obviously not trained enough, nor equipped enough to take on the bandits without the plan succeeding. If the plan failed, then they would lose the battle and Duncan would have to say goodbye to Westeros after ten and five moons of life. He would once again see his Uncle, but on the other side of life. The young man didn't want to see his Uncle yet. He hadn't done nearly enough to make him proud, and he very much wished to keep such a promise.

But now, it was the eighth day. The day when the bandits would arrive and the villagers would fight back. Duncan prayed to the Warrior that he and his allies would win. He really did.

* * *

Duncan groaned as he felt his body wake itself earlier than when he wished to be awake, the sun barely above the house's roof. As he sat himself up, rubbing his eyes to clear out the sleepiness from them, he soon smelled a familiar smell that he had been subjected to for nine days. Bowls of Brown, a stable staple that made of the diet of some of the more poor peasantry of Westeros. It was a kind of soup that always had some kind of meat in it. That is correct, no one kind of meat; just meat. That meat could be pork, beef, chicken, venison, rat, and other things that shouldn't be spoken of… Despite its rather disturbing qualities, it was nutritious and filling enough to survive on. It could even be eaten without any utensils as it was solid enough to be grabbed with a hand but liquid enough to still be considered soup! Apparently it was a staple for those living in King's Landing, so Duncan couldn't really criticize its use in other people's lives. Thank the Seven that his Uncle knew how to cook good enough that they didn't have to eat Bowls of Brown.

Eventually, Duncan got out of bed and put his clothes and armor on before leaving his room. He stepped into the main room of the hovel and felt a tiny smile tug at his lips when he saw Ragnar working on the Bowl of Brown in his cooking pot. The young man had learned a bit about Ragnar over the past few days. The bearded man was a jolly fellow whenever he was drunk or happy with life. He had this certain air about him that just drew people of all kind to be around him, which sort of made sense seeing how Hof and Toiia were often found near him whenever they were seen in public. Duncan sort of enjoyed being around him as well, and he wondered if Ragnar enjoyed his company as well. He hoped he did, and the young man hoped that Ragnar would live in today's coming battle. He really did…

"Morning, Ser! How did you sleep?" Ragnar asked as he used a ladle to pour the Bowls of Brown soup into two seperate bowls, offering one to the young man. He had a smile on his face and seemed to be in a jolly mood, almost as if he was carefree at the task that laid before them today…

The Westford boy took the bowl and began to eat the food, getting a few chunks of the filling substance down before saying "I'm slept alright… Just a bit restless for the battle. I hope we can win it with everything we have done." This was the truth. He was restless, almost eager to get the bloody business over with. He didn't know why he was so restless either. It was as if some animal part in the back of his mind was eager to taste blood for the first time while the rest of his mind was simply just numb with the fear of the dangers the task held. Duncan was afraid of dying, not taking a life. He would gladly take the lives of these bandits if their deeds were true, and from what he could tell they were true! Such men, or rather beasts, were not worthy of living in this world and Duncan would gladly be the one to take them out of it.

"We will be fine! I trust that you will help us defeat these vile curs. You've been a good man, Ser Duncan, and I know that good men will always win over evil men. We can do this!" Duncan couldn't help but smile at Ragnar's optimism. He truly did believe that they were going to win, and Duncan was starting to agree with him.

Suddenly, a horn roared in the background; a signal that the bandits were approaching the village. Duncan hadn't even finished his meal yet, and now he had to go fight on a semi-filled stomach! What sort of madness was that?! Let a man eat at the very least…

"It's time, Ser Westford. Let's put an end to this madness!" Ragnar said as he went to the door and picked up his axe, exiting the hovel before Duncan. He was probably heading towards the area that Duncan had told him to be at for the plan, the plan that was supposed to be the deciding point for the battle ahead. He would be leading one of the flanking groups alongside his friend Toiia, which all depended on the distraction group that was lead by Duncan and Hof. Hof volunteered for the position while Duncan "volunteered" after the two called out what they wanted to do. What was Duncan suppose to say? He couldn't really oppose them, especially when Ragnar said that with how skilled Duncan was, he could easily lead the enemy to the ambush without a single scratch!

As such, Duncan was now in charge of the distraction and he had to hurry to get there. After shoveling down the rest of his meal, he grabbed his shield and unsheathed his sword. He stopped for a moment to look at the sword's blade, still amazed at how bright and sharp it looked. The young man always wondered why his Uncle Mors had a Valyrian Steel sword, but the only answer he got to that question was "I needed a sword to kill a shadow, so I got that sword." That made absolutely no sense to the young man. "Kill a shadow"? No one could kill a shadow as they weren't living things nor evil monsters like the fabled beasts beyond the Wall. Sometimes, Duncan wondered if his Uncle was sane during some of the few answers to the boy's questions about Mors' past.

Duncan snapped out of his thoughts and marched himself to the meeting point, his heart beating like crazy as he silently prayed to the Warrior to survive and win the battle. When he arrived, he arrived last as Hof and the two volunteers were waiting next to the village's main gate. In the distance, Duncan could see a group of armed men heading towards them; most certainly the bandits.

"About time you arrive. Was hoping that you didn't run off with the stags and leave us to our fate." Hof said when he finally noticed Duncan's presence, lazily twirling a dagger in one hand while his other held a simple iron sword. His armor was the only one that a hint of red in it, another way for the name "Lannister" to be painted on him. It didn't help that he didn't wear a helmet, letting his blonde hair flow freely for all to see.

Duncan sort of enjoyed Hof. He spoke plainly despite the "class difference" the two supposedly shared due to Duncan having a last name that wasn't a bastard surname. That meant he was supposedly from a noble background, though Duncan doubted that. His Uncle wasn't exactly the ideal noble with his scarred face and living in the woods, just like how the young man had. But now wasn't the time to think about other men. It was time to worry about the mission ahead, which lead to Duncan saying "Can you hit one of them with your knives from here?"

"Not yet. Too far away for me to get a kill shot. Give them a few more moments to get closer and then let's start this damned 'party'." The small group waited for the bandits to get closer, watching them with cold glares as they examined the enemy. Duncan counted out the bandits, and his heart skipped a beat when he did so. There were only seven in the group before them. Where were the other twenty-three?!

"There is only seven of them, Hof. This is bad…" Duncan whispered to the blonde as the bandits began to slow down, finally noticing the small group of villagers and Duncan standing at the village's main gate.

"It is, but we have no choice. Get ready to run…" The blonde man reared the hand holding the knife back and threw it at the man leading the bandits. The knife flew cleanly through the air and was soon rammed into the man's eye, dropping him to the ground as a corpse. The rest of the bandits yelled in surprise, and eventually anger, before charging straight towards the distracting group. Duncan didn't know what he screamed, most likely "Run", but they soon were heading into the village with their enemies hot on their trail. He felt like yelling and screaming were happening all over the village as they ran towards the ambush spot. He imagined it was just a trick of his mind, until it was not.

One of the volunteers that had been with the distraction group was suddenly rammed into a house's wall right in front of Hof and Duncan, his corpse pinned to the hovel due to a spear in his chest. A bandit was at the end of the spear, trying to pull it out so he could clearly face the others. He didn't get a chance as Duncan, in a sudden fit of rage at having witnessed one of the men he had trained and ate with for a good week die in front of him, ram his sword into his enemy's head; killing him instantly.

Duncan wasn't expecting how his first kill went. He expected it to be bloody, sure, but it was smelly and he didn't expect it to be smelly. He smelled urine, feces, and the coppery scent of blood fill his nose as he pulled his Valyrian Steel sword out of his victim's head. He felt sick from the smell and felt bile begin to claw its way to his throat. He also didn't expect this was how he would kill his first person. He expected some kind of duel while in the battle, honorably fighting to the death instead of something like this. He watched only for a moment as the bandit fell to the ground, like a sack of turnips being carelessly thrown by a lazy farm hand, before being pushed forward by Hof.

"Keep moving! We have to keep moving!" Hof pushed the young man to keep going so their pursuers didn't catch up to them. It was then Duncan realized that the screams that were all around him were truly there. It seemed like the plan had failed as the bandits had ambushed them instead of the other way around! Duncan cursed at this revelation. He should have known such a thing would have happened, and he should have planned for it! He should have known that the bandits wouldn't of had just walked on in like they owned the place. They were going to take precautions if they had common sense, and they clearly had it!

Eventually, the three made it to the center of the village where the ambush was suppose to happen; and clearly saw the battle that was at hand. It was pure and utter chaos of a melee as the armed villagers tried to fight against the bandits, flailing their weapons against each other in a death struggle. Duncan could already see several of his allies already dead, as well as some of the bandits, so he had to jump in before even more died. He could save them from dying! He could! With a shout, he said "Charge! Save as many as you can, and make sure to gang up on them!"

As such, Duncan swiftly jumped into the melee and quickly got his first opponent. His enemy came at him with a sword, swinging for his head to cleave it in two. All the young man had to do was hold his shield up and block the sword from reaching its intended target before lashing out with his own blade. Duncan's blade hit its target, cutting the bandit's throat open. The Westford boy shoved the dead man to the ground with a swing of his shield before walking towards his second opponent as he cut down a young villager.

His second opponent had an axe for a weapon and tried to block Duncan's attack. The Valyrian Steel cut deep into the wood of the axe, nearly cutting through it entirely much to the surprise of the bandit. That surprise turned to rage as he tried to tackle the young man to the ground, which surprised Duncan at how strong his opponent was. The young man struggled against the man, trying to keep him off of him, and nearly lost his balance when the bandit kicked him in the shin. Snarling in rage, Duncan reared his shield back and slammed it into his opponent's face.

Duncan heard the bandit scream among the sound of bones crunching and blood spraying from his nose, sending him to the ground wailing. The Westford boy turned his sword around and slammed it into the bandit's head, killing him almost instantly. Just as he was about to pull his sword out of the corpse, another bandit slammed into him and tried to claw at his throat with a knife. Acting on instinct Duncan grabbed the knife by its blade, cutting deep into his palm, and reared his shield back once more before ramming it right into the bandit's throat. The bandit began to choke out blood as he clutched at his throat, his windpipe clearly crushed with his jugular popped.

The young man, now breathing heavily, grabbed his sword with a painful hiss and looked around for another fight. He found it in his fourth opponent who was also looking for a new enemy to fight, wielding a spear. He charged forth and jabbed his spear towards Duncan, who simply moved to the side and grabbed the spear. He tugged it forward, bringing his opponent towards him, and backhanded the bandit with his sword's pommel. Stunned, the bandit stumbled back slightly before Duncan rammed his sword through the man's chest; killing him. Duncan was a bit surprised when the sword was able to get through the bandit's leather armor, but chalked it up to the Valyrian Steel that the sword's blade was. It must be truly sharp if it could cut through leather armor!

Duncan pulled his blade out of the corpse and looked around for another opponent, his heavy breathes becoming heavier. He saw no other enemies around to battle. No other bandits to slay. He felt himself suddenly start to slow down, as if he had been flying and now was falling to the ground. When he finally did crash back to the ground, the bile that had been slowly crawling up his throat surged forth when the combined smell of all the dead bodies hit him. He let out the vomit on one of the dead bandits, nearly dropping his sword as he crouched down.

Once he finished vomiting, shakily wiping his mouth with his hand, the young man looked up and examined who of his allies remained. He first saw Hof kneeling over a corpse that had an axe buried in its throat, to which I stumbled on over to see who he was kneeling over. Duncan felt his breath get cut off when he saw who the corpse was.

It was Ragnar, his eyes glazed over and his blood staining the ground beneath him. He had several other wounds on him, but none of them were as fatal as the axe stuck in his throat. Duncan glanced at Hof, who was stone faced as he looked at Ragnar's cooling face.

"Hof? Are you…" Duncan asked, earning a look from the Lannister as he stood up. He was clutching his side, blood staining his clothing, and was completely emotionless as he spoke.

"I'm alright. I got a small cut on my side, but nothing compared to my friends. I don't see Toiia anywhere, and none of the others have either. I think he ran off, and I think he isn't coming back as well. Makes sense seeing how he is a deserter." Hof glanced back at Ragnar's corpse before keeping his gaze on the Westford boy. "Told me he was during a night of drinking. Ran away during the Battle of the Trident after the Prince had been slain by King Robert. Don't know what else, but he most likely has run away."

"...Okay. How many are still alive?" Duncan felt obvious anger coming from Hof when he spoke of Toiia. It sort of felt like he only really liked the man while Ragnar was still alive. But they had to focus on what was important at the moment.

"From what I can count, about eight including us two." So they had six dead minusing Toiia's desertion. That was terrible, yet good. They were still alive, and yet they had lost so many people; including Ragnar. Duncan really liked Ragnar, and he hoped that he had survived. But he didn't, and the young man wanted to cry because of it.

"...You should get some rest. I'll help out with the bodies and the eventual fallout from the elders. You did your job, and you did it as well as you could with what you had after all." Hof said, patting the Westford boy on the shoulder before sheathing his sword. Duncan silently nodded and began to walk back to Ragnar's hovel. As he walked, almost in a daze, and glanced at the villagers beginning to clean up the carnage of the battle as he did so. He wondered what they were going through their heads. Were they too in a daze like he was, or were they thinking of other things. Duncan could only guess as he walked off.

He eventually arrived at Ragnar's hovel and finally noticed something. The sun had just reached its zenith in the sky, marking it as noon. He thought that battles lasted all day, but this one only lasted for a single morning. How was that possible? Well, Duncan didn't want to think about it. He wanted to be inside, which he did with a single push against the door. He then shut the door and stood there in the entranceway, almost swaying from side to side as he silently stood there.

The young man suddenly broke down, falling to his knees as tears poured unshamily from his eyes and began to cough and choke while trying to breath. He didn't really understand why he was crying, but he was. Was he sad because his friend, Ragnar, was dead? Was he sad because his plan had failed and costed the lives of multiple comrades of his? Was it because he took the lives of men, no matter how evil they were said to be? Or was it some kind of combination. Whatever it was, Duncan just cried and sobbed as he leaned against the hovel's wall.

He would continue to cry until sleep overcame him, curled up and leaning against the wall he had fallen against. Duncan missed his Uncle Mors… He would have known what to do in a time like this…


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter Four: Purpose**_

When Duncan woke up, he felt something crusty covering the palm of his hand. At first as he groaned himself awake with his joints popping as he stretched, he wondered if he had accidentally slept with his hand in a jar of honey. But when he opened his hand up, he saw a large cut across his palm crusted over with blood and dirt. He hissed when he saw the state of his hand. He had forgotten to clean it out after the battle, and that meant it could become tainted. His Uncle told him all about the taint that wounds can get if they weren't treated properly. Duncan really didn't want to lose his hand because of his inability to keep it together, so he did what he needed to do by standing up and finding the nearest cleanest bucket of water he could find in the hovel.

As he washed his hand's wound out, making sure to clean off the dried blood and to get into the wound itself, Duncan thought about what happened yesterday. Yesterday he killed people. People who were cruel bandits that raped women and killed children, but still people. He remembered the spray of blood on his face, the smell of urine and feces as the dead released what their bowels contained, and watched as their lives drained from their eyes alongside the blood that pooled to the ground. He remembered how he killed his first man, how he had watched that volunteer be pinned to the wall due to the bandit's spear before ramming his sword into the man's throat to avenge his ally. He wouldn't of had to do such a thing had someone like the Crown had hunted down the bandits seeing how they were a threat to this village. Was a village's problem not worth the attention of at least some servant of King Robert's court to take care of? Wasn't it the Crown's responsibility to protect the smallfolk alongside the eight Wardens?

Duncan just sighed as he finished cleaning his wound out, raising it out of the misty red water to examine it. It seemed to be okay as there was nothing alarmingly green or black to worry about. Just red blood and pink flesh for his eyes to see. All he needed was white, which he found such a colored rag in one of Ragnar's cabinets.

Ragnar… Duncan still couldn't believe his friend was now dead. Sure he knew him for about eight days, but he still knew him. He ate with him, drank with him, talked to him, and slept near him. He had come to know what Ragnar liked to drink, apple ale, and how he liked his bread, crispy on the outside but soft on the inside. The young man wondered if it was useless to grieve over a man he had come to know well in such a short time. Did he have the right to cry over someone that liked apple ale and crispy yet soft bread?

Duncan grunted as he ripped the extra bit of rag off before tying his bandage tight. He watched as a small dot of red appeared over the top of his wound as he clenched and unclenched his hand to make sure it could still work. It hurt when he clenched his hand too hard, but he could still clench it which meant he could still use it! That's good. He wasn't useless yet, though the people in the village may deem him to be so.

As if on cue, the Westford boy turned to the sound of someone knocking on the hovel's door. The young man blinked as he wondered who exactly could be knocking at the hovel's door, especially after something like what happened yesterday. He was spruned into movement at the second set of knocks, walking over to the door and opening it to see who was on the other side.

"Hey. Pack up. You're getting kicked out of the village." That was the first thing Duncan heard Hof as he stood on the other side of the doorway. Duncan was surprised about many things, to say the least. First was that Hof seemed to be calm despite losing his friends and having to kill other men that wanted to kill him. Second was that Duncan was getting kicked out of the village that he saved! Where they not thankful in the slightest for him saving their village, despite the losses? Third and lastly, Duncan finally felt hungry. He finally wanted to eat something, something like stew. Not a Bowl of Brown. Something with more variety this time around as eating the same thing everyday is just too… Depressing really.

"What do you mean I'm being kicked out?" The young man asked, hanging on the door's handle as he looked at the supposed Lannister before him.

"The Elders made a decision last night. All who fought in the battle are banished from the village, never to return for ten whole years! Something about a 'pacifist clause' being in their old records that we have violated. So I will be joining you for a while, along with the eight others that survived! Well seven actually. One of the wounded died last night after succumbing to their wounds." Duncan felt his jaw drop when he heard Hof's explanation. They were all being banished?! What kind of backward logic was that? They saved that village from being under those bandit's tyranny, and even saved their lives by winning the battle. How could they receive such disrespect after pouring their sweat and blood into their work?!

"I imagine you're thinking 'That is actually bad manners and I should confront them', right?"

"Y-Yeah…"

"Don't. You can't change the minds of the fearful unless you have enough armed men, and we certainly don't have enough with Ragnar dead. He had the clout to get people on his side, and he is now dead so we can't fight back now. Best we can do is just leave and never return to such a dumb place!" There was wisdom in Hof's words, much to Duncan's displeasure. He wanted them to show some manner of respect to the young man after doing so much for them. Damn their politics! They should be happy they are no longer under the bandit's control, and they most certainly should be at least thankful in someway to those who fought for them.

But, Duncan imagined he wasn't going to get that with how Hof worded things. Why couldn't things just be simple for the Westford boy? Whatever the case may be, Duncan nodded at Hof and said "I'll grab my stuff. See you at the gate?"

"We're already there. We figured we could caravan with you seeing how you're the sellsword after all! Probably heading to your next job or something, which could be a new place for us to settle in. Somewhere better than this place anyway…" Hof replied as he turned away and began to head towards the caravan's location. As for Duncan, he closed the door behind him and swiftly began to collect his items. As he did so, he also took some of Ragnar's items after some thought. No one will probably miss or need what Ragnar had, unlike Duncan. So the young man could just take them as he would probably have need of them. He especially needed any food that he could use, plus those silver Stags that were promised. Ragnar said they were under his bed, so Duncan didn't have to search hard to find them.

Duncan eventually left the hovel, travel sack in his right hand while a hunk of bread was in his left hand. He had to eat something for the journey ahead, and why not one of Ragnar's pieces of bread? He will most certainly not going to be eating after his death!

Though… What would have happened if Ragnar hadn't died?

* * *

The group of villagers, including Duncan Westford and Hof, departed the village without much fanfare. One of the banished men's families had come to see him off, and Duncan could only feel anger while he watched the man's mother sob into his arms as she desperately begged him not to go. But he had to, much to his own displeasure, and now the seven men were marching alongside the Kingsroad with Duncan and Hof leading the pack. There next destination, some new village hopefully nearby.

The group traveled in silence, especially Duncan and Hof as they marched at the head of the caravan of villagers. As they marched, the Westford boy could feel Hof examine him as they walked side by side. Eventually, Hof broke the silence after two hours of marching by saying "I never really looked at you before, but what is with the two heraldies? You a noble of two houses or something, one of which is dead!"

"What do you mean 'one of which is dead'? And… No. I am not a noble in the slightest. At least, I don't think so anyways." Duncan answered, earning a strange look from the supposed Lannister. The look was almost saying that Hof didn't believe what the Westford boy had just said!

"I mean your scarf, the one with the with black dog's head in a blue field. That's House Westford heraldry and they used to be bannermen to Tywin Lannister before he purged them just a few weeks after Robert's Rebellion was over." Duncan couldn't believe what he was hearing. There was no way that the house Hof was talking about was the very same house his Uncle Mors was a part of, nor was he! Duncan only really became a Westford after asking Mors if they had last names, which he answered with "Westford". There is no way that his Uncle was once under Tywin's control!

"What do you mean?"

"Really? I thought you would have heard about it seeing how you wear the heraldry… In any case, what I said was true. Sure it isn't as famous as the 'Rains of Castamere', but those born of the Westerlands must know that no house is safe from disobeying House Lannister, especially Tywin Lannister himself. Apparently during the Sack of King's Landing Tywin ordered the head of House Westford, one Mors Westford, to do something in the Red Keep. Mors straight up refused to do it, and he refused right in front of Tywin while he was with his commanders as well! For that, Tywin purged his house. From what the rumors say, Mors ran to take the Black while his wife and daughter disappeared." Hof explained, stating everything he said as if it was fact. Duncan couldn't believe what he was hearing even more when he heard his Uncle's name be dropped. His Uncle once served under Tywin Lannister, and refused to do his bidding right to his face?! That was something too insane to be believed in the young man's eyes.

But, what also caught his attention was how Hof said "those born of the Westerlands". That meant Hof was a Lannister! To which, Duncan said "So you are a Lannister… I thought you said you weren't."

"I never said I wasn't. I just hate that term being used to label all of those born in that region. The proper term is Westerlanders, not Lannisters! We are not all associated with the golden lions, though we may be their bannermen." Hof objected, obviously unhappy with being called a Lannister. Did that mean he didn't like Tywin and his family, or that he prefered the proper term to be used? Whatever the case was, Hof continued to speak. "As for the heraldry on your shield, the broken sword in a red field; that is the heraldry of the House Sarwyck, another bannerman of House Lannister. They are still alive and kicking, though they are pretty much dying as there is only one real member left after the scandal that happened in the Red Keep a few years after Robert's Rebellion. Don't know what happened, but apparently there was a dead man sitting on the Iron Throne that had ties to the Sarwyck house that caused the Queen to become rather mad and in turn Tywin due to the loss of prestige with having his bannermen act crazy."

Duncan was rather interested in House Sarwyck's case. What was that all about, and why did his Uncle have a shield that had their heraldry on it? Was he friends with one of the nobles of that family? Then again, Duncan had the whole mess to figure out with his Uncle supposedly having been one of the Lannister's bannermen and that he had refused the head lion's command right in front of him. What exactly was his Uncle's past?!

What was the man that the young Westford boy knew as Mors Westford?

* * *

It was evening when they reached the next village, one that welcomed them after they told their story. All but three of the villagers, not including Hof, settled in the new village in an abandoned house they had in the hovel. As Duncan tried to find some kind inn to settle down with, not really caring what Hof and the other villagers did; he had his attention drawn to the village crier. He figured his might as well get some news about Westeros so he could figure what he next destination was in mind.

It didn't take long before Duncan learned about something rather interesting. The Hand of the King, a person called Jon Arryn, had recently died and that the King was going to appoint a new Hand in the coming months. The crowd listening to the news was abuzz with rumors, rumors of lions and stags. The Westford boy didn't know exactly what was going on, but he knew that Westeros was about to change with the amount of energy that was in the crowd.

"So… The Hand finally kicked the bucket, huh?" Duncan turned around to look at Hof, looking at the town crier alongside the three other villagers that didn't decide to settle down in the village. "I imagine that King Robert is going to appoint that Eddard Stark in the North if their friendship lasted after the war. From what the legends say about their friendship, then it is pretty much certain. The only thing that worries me is how the Lannisters will take the Starks in their home territory."

"Really? Do you think that there might be trouble ahead for everyone when they finally meet?" Duncan asked the Westerlander, earning a nod and a glance from Hof.

"I think so, and I got to ask you something. What do you plan on doing if Westeros turns bloody once again?" Duncan hadn't really thought about the chance of Westeros turning into some chaotic wasteland like the Free Cities according to his Uncle Mors. What would he do if everything suddenly breaks down and he had to fight for his survival even more than he already has to?

What would happen to those who can't fight like him…?

"I guess I would just go around and help out those who need help. If all of the nobles are too busy to do their duties, then I'll just do it for them. Someone has to so why not me?" Duncan answered after a few moments of silent thinking, shrugging as he spoke. He had nothing to really drive him in life as he had no real goals. No real dreams to drive towards. So why not help others get their dreams, whether it be being freed from some bandits terrorizing them or just being able to learn how to swing a sword? Maybe it will be something that his Uncle Mors could be proud of him…

"Really…? Well then, that is a rather stupid thing to do all by yourself. Which makes my next question more important. You ever plan on joining a group of some kind?" Hof asked, stroking his chin as Duncan eventually nodded his head. "In that case, why don't we make a group of some kind? We've fought together and we don't really have any home to go to now. So why not become sellswords that help the poor and peasants? What's the worst that could happen anyways?!"

Duncan didn't expect Hof's question, nor the agreements coming from the other three villagers. He didn't expect that Hof and the others would be willing to journey with the Westford boy after the mess that was the battle yesterday. The young man's plan had failed and they lost several men as a result! Had it not been for him, then Ragnar could have been alive and they would still be in their village. Why wish to join someone like Duncan?

That was the past, however. The Westford boy had to look to the present and then the future. He couldn't worry about what he had done, only what others have done and what they could do further. And for Hof and those villagers, they could do some more good if Duncan was willing to let them join him on his new found quest to help those who needed it. Why cast away people who wanted to do some good in their lives?

"Alright. Let's do some good. Does that sound good?"

"Of course, Duncan! Let's go talk with the village mayor's and see if we can start today. Shall you lead the way?"

"I can. Just be sure to follow close behind, Hof."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five: Wolves in the Woods**_

For the next two to three weeks, Duncan Westford, appointed leader by majority vote, and his small band of well-meaning men traveled throughout the Riverlands and near the border to the Crownlands in search of honorable work that sellswords were able to do. Such work was solely with the peasantry, of the men and women who filled the countryside of those regions of Westeros, and Duncan refused to enlist his band with any potential jobs from the nobility or those connected with the Houses of the seven kingdoms, both minor and large. He believed that involving himself and his comrades with the houses could and would lead to dangerous events that would be out of their control. That, and Duncan still remembered what his Uncle Mors had told him to do. If the Westford boy involved himself with the nobility, that may draw the attention of the "Spider" or maybe even Tywin "The Tyrant" Lannister's eyes onto the young man. If what Hof said about his Uncle was true, then Duncan needed to keep the Westford name quiet so it would not draw the lions to him.

As such, Duncan and his band did jobs that the peasantry, and only the peasantry, gave them. The young man would be lying if he didn't find some of the jobs he took to be rather annoying as the peasants that gave him the task could have done it themselves. One such task had him and his men lead a herd of cattle to a nearby village, not even an hour away, to sell them and then come back to return the money. He sold those cattle for over three hundred Stags, but only got fifty as payment for the job after returning them. What kind of sense was that? Another task similar to that involved him and his men help out the local lumberjack with carrying a group of cut down trees to their local sawmill for twenty Stags, which they did as it was an honorable thing to do. Really, the only reason why Duncan and his men did such annoying tasks was due to the Westford boy's sense of honor. "Death over Dishonor" was House Westford's motto, and Duncan lived by that motto as best as he could. If it meant cleaning the latrines of a village, then no matter his complaints he would do it.

Eventually Hof, who was essentially the second-in-command in the band as Duncan looked to him for advice, told Duncan that they needed to get more numbers if they were to do some of the more dangerous jobs; especially those that are combat based. As such, Hof suggested they start hiring out of work laborers, unhappy farmhands, and other men willing to join their band. But they had no way to pay such men a proper wage, which caused Duncan a great amount of discomfort at such an idea. Hof agreed so the two spend nearly one of those weeks figuring out some kind of system to pay the men of the band, both old and new, some kind of wage while keeping a budget for the band's general expenses such as food, clothing, weapons, etc. They did figure out a system, near the week's end. The band would pay all of the men, including Duncan, exactly three Stags per week; which was apparently more than what a person in King's Landing or in one of the unnamed unknown villages earned in one and a half weeks. The men could loot any corpses of men they had killed, only after the battle they found themselves in. Hof warned Duncan, however, that the more men they picked up, the wage will increase in both salary and how much needed to be paid. But for now, they went with this system as it was simple enough for the simple band.

As such, Duncan's band grew to twelve men by the end of the period of two to three weeks. That meant seven men, twelve if you counted Duncan, Hof, and the three volunteers, were willing to work hard for their generous wage after their recruitment to the band. Which leads to the present day on the band's trek through a dangerous stretch of a forest.

A day ago, when the band arrived to a small village, more like a hamlet for twenty people, by the beginning of the night; Duncan accepted a rather interesting job from the elder of that village. Recently, one of their village maidens was kidnapped by a group of villagers from a nearby hamlet to wed her to one of their men. According to one of the villagers, the wedding day would by by next day's evening. They would have gone to save her, but the forest was the home to a dangerous pack of wolves that were willing to hunt and kill any human that walked in the forest. So the elder asked if the Westford boy and his men could save the girl and bring her back to the village; the only place in all of Westeros where she rightfully belonged. Duncan was a bit put off by how possesive the elder was acting towards the girl, but figured that seeing she had been kidnapped; it would be the honorable thing to go save her and bring her back to her home. Not to mention the elder promised to pay a jaw dropping amount of two hundred silver Stags for the job, the most money the band had ever been offer as of the current day.

With honor and Stags on the line, Duncan and his men accepted the job and swiftly left the following morning to save the young maiden from her unwanted marriage.

* * *

The sounds of heavy stomping on hard ground and of weapons swinging back and forth was in the air as a single file column of armed men marched down a small dirt trail through a Riverlands forest. Well it was near the famous "Crossroads Inn", where many major roads met with the Kingsroad, so it wasn't really part of the Riverlands all that much. If anything, they were on the side that was closest to the Riverlands.

Still, Duncan and his band of men were marching towards their intended destination as best as they could. Duncan wished for them to run through the forest and to the hamlet, but the threat of wolves, accidental injury, and Hof's advice forced the group to steadily march instead of what Duncan wished to do. Despite this setback, they would be able to reach the hamlet by the beginning of the evening sun; which would be near the start of the wedding they had to prevent. That meant that all of the kidnappers and the maiden would in one place at the same time. That meant the young man and his men could swiftly take care of the threat and save the girl with ease.

As they marched, Duncan listened in on what his men were talking about as Hof silently walked behind; always second while the Westford boy was always first. The three original volunteers were talking about what may be going on at their home village now that they were gone, of how they were going to live without the bandits and if they could rebuild into a better life than the ones they had been subjected to. Duncan found that a bit touching and slightly confusing that they still loved the village that had so coldly and cruelly exiled them for standing up against those of evil intent. They still considered such a place a home even with the dishonor it had, which Duncan hated. It was a strange hypocritical situation, it was...

Another group was four of the men they had hired was talking about many different topics. They spoke of their new lives, of the families they have or had, of jokes they heard, of people they had become friends with, and the strangest of all for the young man; of the whores they have slept with. Duncan knew what a whore was thanks to his Uncle Mors. He knew they were women, and very rarely men, who sold their bodies to those craving sex and those indulging in their lust. The Faith hated the idea and practice of prostitution, but they did nothing to stop it. Seven hells, if his Uncle was speaking the truth, some holy men even indulge themselves in the practice; some going as far as to mock the Seven while doing so with twisted games! It was a strange concept to the Westford boy, even though he knew it had its place in society as almost everyone visited some kind of brothel once in their life. He has never had sex with anyone in his life, and he didn't really understand why people would just have sex for money. Wasn't sex designed for procreation between lovers? How did most of the whores not get pregnant from all of the sex they performed? Did they eat or drink some kind of strange concoction to stop from getting pregnant? Duncan could only wonder…

As for the remaining three men, two were whispering amongst themselves while the last man just silently marched at the very back of the column. Those three rubbed Duncan the wrong way if he was to be honest. He had the sense that they were dirty for different reasons unlike the others. Instead of actual soil and toil, those three were covered in a different kind of dirt that couldn't be seen. But, much to Duncan's displeasure, Hof hired them as they needed men who were willing to join the band. So they were here to stay until the left the band; either through death, desertion, leaving after service, or some other form of disbandment from Duncan's band of men.

"It's up ahead, Duncan. Let's get into battle positions, shall we?" Hof suddenly said, grabbing Duncan by the shoulder to stop him before he walked into the hamlet's sight. Hof had been a real valuable person, and friend, these past few weeks to Duncan. Without him, the Westford boy would not have been able to gather such numbers, create a wage system, and probably not even make or join a band of men! The Westerlander had earned his place in the band, and at the young man's side as his friend.

"Alright. Everyone! Form up in the bushes and wait for my call. Stoin: ready your bow as you will be supporting us. Let's move!" Duncan ordered, pulling out his Valyrian Steel sword and getting his Sarwyck shield into his hand to get ready for battle. One of the men, Stoin, unshouldered a hunting bow and nocked an arrow. It had been pure luck that Hof was able to find someone who know how to use a bow good enough to kill a bird in mid-flight. The man himself was a stoic person with ginger hair and green eyes, fiercely loyal to the Riverlands and to House Bracken as they were the liege lords he had been born under. Hopefully, Duncan will find much use in the stoic archer of his band.

It didn't take long for the twelve men to form up in the treeline, crouching in thick bushes as they examined the hamlet before them. It was certainly a small place, like the other village that had given them their task. In the center of the village was the wedding that was just about to start as seven men dressed in finery and a septon stood waiting for the bride, Duncan and his band's target. The men didn't seem to be armed from what they could see, nor did the septon have anything that could be used for as a weapon. If anything, the metal candlesticks that outlined the borders of the marriage ceremony could be used as makeshift weapons. They wouldn't kill any of his men as long as they didn't mess up too badly in combat.

"Let's wait until the bride had arrived, then we attack." Duncan said, looking at Hof to see if that was a solid plan. The Westerlander nodded in silent agreement, pulling out one of his daggers from his belt as he turned his attention back to the wedding party ahead. Stoin aimed his bow at the groom of the wedding, a rather young man nervously standing next to the septon. He narrowed his eyes as he waited for the next set of orders as he kept his target in view of his sight and his arrows.

The band of men waited for a good twenty minutes for the bride to appear, to which their patience was rewarded when their target emerged from a nearby hut. There was another woman beside her, one that was clearly a child barely beyond ten and three moons of age, and it seemed she was leading the bride down the aisle and to the groom. Was she another kidnapping victim? She was so young… Why would they do such a thing?! Duncan felt sharp anger blossom in his chest as his mind began to think dark things about what the kidnappers may have done to the young girl. He was going to enjoy cutting down those who resisted…

"When Stoin fires his arrow, everyone charge and overrun the enemy. Take down any who tries to resist and grab the girl. She needs to be alive and safe, not dead. We will fail if she dies or gets very wounded." The Westford boy nodded at Stoin for him to fire his arrow when he was ready. The stoic man hummed as he drew his arrow back a bit further, standing up as he did so, and shot. The arrow flew through the air in an arc, straight and true like an hawk in the sky, and slammed into the groom's back right as he placed his cloak over the bride's shoulders.

The groom fell like a sack of logs, slamming into the ground lifeless to the world. Once the corpse had hit the ground, Duncan and his men let out yells and screams of battle as they rushed from their hiding spots and towards their enemies. It was chaos on the enemy side as men either ran away, stood their in shock, or swiftly grabbed one of the metal candlesticks and counter-charged. The septon was one of the few who ran away, his flapping comically in the wind as he fled. The bride and the girl also ran away, the bride running into a nearby house while the girl ran towards what appeared to be some kind of blacksmith's hovel. That was good in Duncan's mind as they wouldn't be in any danger from the short battle ahead.

Only three enemies fought back, one of which Duncan took care of while Hof and one of the other men took care of the others. Duncan's opponent tried to swing the candlestick at the young man's head, only to have his attack be blocked by Duncan's shield. The Westford answered this attack by ramming his sword into the man's chest, killing him right where he stood before the young man wrenched his sword out and pushed the corpse onto the ground. Hof took care of his opponent with a simple toss of his dagger, the man dropping to the ground before he even reached the Westerlander. The final enemy and Duncan's man fought for a bit, but Duncan's man won out in the end by taking his hatchet to his opponent's throat.

While Duncan's men took care of the men who didn't resist but reminded, the young man began to head towards the house where the kidnapped girl had gone into. As he did so, he noticed that silent vagabond from earlier heading towards the blacksmith's hovel. He must be going after that young girl, who may be another victim of these kidnappers if Duncan's new hunch was correct. He would have to congratulate that man later. Maybe that feeling Duncan had towards those three men wasn't worthy of though after all!

As he neared the house's door, he sheathed his sword back into its scabbard and shouldered his shield to show that he wasn't going to show any harm to the young woman. He slowly opened the door, saying in the best soothing voice as he could "It's okay… I'm here to save you! You can come out. I'm not going to hurt you…" He slowly walked into the house, the door gently closing behind him due to its hinges and the wind.

As he cleared the entrance, he looked around to find where the bride had gone to. Suddenly, hiding in a small corner behind him, the bride jumped onto the Westford boy's back with a scream. Using her nails, she tried to claw the young man's face apart in a heated rage as Duncan let out a yelp as he used his hands to cover his face and block the clawing. The young man snarled as he felt the skin on the back of his hands be ripped open as he blocked the woman's assault. Using one hand, Duncan smacked the young woman off of his back.

The woman tumbled over a dining table with a sharp yelp; spilling food, drink, and utensils everywhere as she landed on the opposite side of the table with a bruise on her side from Duncan's attack. As she stood back up, knife in hand, Duncan was crying out as he examined his bloodied "What in the Seven Hells is wrong with you?! I'm here to save you, not harm you!"

"Just die!" The woman answered as she charged towards the Westford boy, stabbing her knife at the young man's throat. The young man stumbled back as he caught the woman's wrist, trying his hardest to disarm her. She fought with the strength of five men in one body, and had the passion of a raging dragon as she screamed for Duncan to die. Eventually the combination of the woman's weight and Duncan's stumbling forced the both of them to fall onto the floor, the woman landing on top of Duncan.

Duncan snarled as he lifted his arms up and used his vambraces to defend himself against the woman's attempts to ram her knife into the young man's throat. Eventually, Duncan had enough and smacked the knife out of the woman's hand after one of her failed stabs. He then used his other hand to smack her across the face which threw her off of him. The young woman's head met the dining table's edge and was soon knocked out.

The Westford boy panted and shook as he sat himself up with his elbows, looking at the bride completely confused and surprised at what had just transpired. Why did she fight him?! He was here to save her, not harm her! Why on earth did she fight back so fiercely against someone that was trying to save her?

Whatever the case was, Stoin entered the house Duncan was in with his hatchet out; ready to fight in need be. The stoic archer saw Duncan, breathing heavily with his hands bloody, and swiftly went to the young man's side; stowing his hatchet away as he did so.

"What happened?" Stoin asked Duncan, kneeling down beside the boy as he took out a skin of water to clean the blood from the young man's hands.

"I… I don't know?! She just attacked me like her life depended on it. I said I was here to save her, but she just told me to die while trying to stab and claw me to death!" The young man hissed as he felt his wounds sting as cold water washed through him to get rid of the blood they spilled. He was going to have to have help to take care of them later, but for now they had a task at hand. "Stoin. Find some rope and bound her hands. I don't want her attacking us while we're returning to her village."

Stoin silently nodded at the command, putting his water skin away as he stood up and began to search the house for the item. He eventually found it in the bedroom of the hut, which he swiftly tied the bride's hands together and lifted her over his shoulder. Duncan admired the archer's sense of diligence and obedience. He followed orders and did them effectively and immediately, something that the young man's Uncle Mors was like in some ways.

The two left the hut, Duncan leading as he held his wounded hands out front while Stoin followed behind with the young woman over his shoulder. They came to the scene of Hof cleaning his dagger, and the men looting the dead and the unconscious that made up their enemies. Duncan had no qualms with the looting. Their enemies won't have any need of their possessions, so it made sense for his men to have need of them.

"You're hurt!" Hof noticed the two and swiftly came to Duncan's side, grabbing his wrists to examine his wounds. "I had Stoin go in when I heard the screams, but I didn't expect you to be hurt or anything! Did she do this?"

"Yes. She did. I don't know why, but I'm going to need help mending them later." The young man growled out as Hof let go of the Westford boy's wrists.

"Stoin and I will help out. I'm sure we can clean your wounds easily with the supplies we have, and will get with all of the loot our men are gathering." Hof patted Duncan on the shoulder as he led the boy towards his men. As he did so, the young man noticed that out of everyone here; there was only a total of eleven. Where was the twelfth man?

Suddenly, the shrill screams from a woman pierced the air. Duncan felt the breath catch in his throat as he remembered the twelfth man having chased after the young girl at that blacksmith's hovel. He unsheathed his sword and swiftly began to run towards the location, followed after by Hof and some of his men who had finished looting. The screaming sounded like they were outside, so all they needed to do was get to the hovel to find the man and the young girl. As they rounded the corner of the blacksmith's forge, Duncan felt a sharp sense of dread slam into him from what he saw.

He saw the man, his twelfth member of his band, violently raping the young girl that he had chased after. The young girl's clothing was in tatters, had fresh bruises covering her body with a cut across her side, and her vagaina was covered in and dripping out blood and semen as the man continued to rape her. The man himself had unbuckled his pants and had tossed his sword, sheath and all, off to the side to give him room to have his way with the young girl as he thrusted his penis, drenched in blood and semen, into the girl nonstop. He had one of his hands holding her down by her neck, pushing her face into the dirt as she screamed in pure pain and anguish, while the other hand violently beating the young girl like she was some kind of training dummy.

"What the fuck?!" Duncan shouted out as his emotions became a whirlwind of disgust, anger, despair, surprise, and confusion. The shout snapped the man out of his trance, stopping mid-thrust to turn his head to see who was here. He gasped in surprise when he saw Duncan with Hof and some of the men behind the young boy, who had expressions of either rage or disgust on their face after witnessing the scene before them. The man pulled out and began to babble something, something that Duncan did not listen to as swung his Valyrian Steel sword at his head.

The man wasn't able to say a single word before the young man's sword sliced through his head, spilling blood like a butchered pig as he fell to the ground lifeless. The young girl, her screams lessening in volume, curled up into a ball on the ground and began to sob uncontrollably. Duncan breathed heavily as he looked at the scene before him, his mind desperately trying to stop the whirlwind of emotions inside him at the moment. After a few moments of trying to calm himself down, the Westford boy turned to look at his men and said "Get to the others. We're leaving. Now!"

The men scrambled away to obey the young man's orders, almost as if they were thankful for the chance to leave such a disgusting and evil situation committed by one of their own. Once they left, Duncan turned to look at the violated young girl near him. She had to be ten and three moons, and yet her young age didn't stop the man from raping her. Why did he do such a thing? Duncan was alright with looting as that made sense. Most items could be replaced easily and coin will always be there. But rape?! That had no value at all! It was some cheap fulfillment of sexual lust born of scars and trauma. Where was the value in that to the band?!

What was Duncan going to do now? He killed the offender, sure, but what will happen to the victim? She was forever dishonored, and she will carry that dishonor for the rest of her life. There was no way she would be able to do such a thing at such an age, if Duncan's thoughts were correct. The only path for her to take now was death. Death over Dishonor…

When they left the village, they only numbered eleven minus their captive. Duncan's blade had fresh blood on it which he needed to clean. It almost seemed sated with the blood of enemies, and victims, that Duncan had given it…

* * *

Duncan leaned against the tree in forest, bathed in moon and dusk as the faint light of campfires glowed behind him. They had left the village swiftly after the terrible incident at the order of Duncan, and were now camping in the middle of the wolves' forest. They were about halfway to their destination, halfway to the hamlet that desired the return of the woman that was a captive of Duncan's band. She had woken up a while ago and screamed curses and threats at the men while sobbing. She kept it up for over an hour before falling into a tense and fury-filled silence.

Duncan still didn't understand why she was so against them. They were here to save her! They had defeated her kidnappers and were now returning her back to her rightful home! So why was she so violently against going back?! The Westford boy didn't understand, but he knew he had to ask if his curiosity was to be sated. But he had to think. Think about many things that has happened lately.

He still hasn't properly grieved over his Uncle Mors. He hasn't gone back to give him a proper burial, nor has he even cried like a baby over the man who raised him. Duncan didn't feel like that, he just felt sad. But not sad enough to cry. Just sad… Why didn't he grieve? He wanted to show the Seven that he felt sadness for his Uncle, but the young man couldn't express it at all. All he could do was just feel his heart hurt and his chest squeeze whenever he thought about his Uncle. He wanted to cry… He really did…

Another thought was about how his nameday was coming up in the coming weeks. Once that day arrives Duncan would be ten and six moons old. According to Westeros' law on age, that meant Duncan was truly a man in both law and culture. He could do anything he wished to do and be seen as an adult while he does it. Hof had tried to cheer the young man up a while ago, asking him about personal things like what his favorite food was or if he had ever drank wine before. When revealed that Duncan was still a virgin, Hof declared that when his nameday neared in the days; they would go to King's Landing to celebrate by having Duncan deflowered at one of the best brothels in town. It was some brothel on the Street of Silk, owned by a woman called Chataya. Apparently it was a brothel the King himself went to, and one that rivaled a man known as "Littlefinger"'s own brothels! Stoin, of all people, said that he could have Chataya hook him up with a girl like Marei, who was said to be very pretty with porcelain-like skin and long white-gold hair. That sounds rather nice, if Duncan was going to be honest, but that conflicted with what his Uncle Mors said about King's Landing. He couldn't go there, not while the Spider was still in the Red Keep.

Duncan let out an sigh as he began to unbuckle his pants. He had enough of thinking and seeing how he was out here, he might as well release the urine that has been building up throughout the day. As he did so, he looked at his bandaged hands and cringed at how Hof and Stoin had helped him dress his wounds. They boiled some wine and poured it over the cuts before covering them with bandages, much to Duncan's displeasure due to how painful the boiling wine was. Why didn't they just use water? It was far less painful than pouring hot wine over wounds just clean them.

The young man spent the next few moments relieving himself on a bush, making sure not to get any urine on his bandages as they would have to put new ones on if that happened. As he did so, he heard faint rustling coming from somewhere nearby. It sounded like an animal of sorts, until he heard people yelling. He swiftly finished, buckling his pants back up, and gripped his sword's handle as he readied himself for an encounter as the noises and yelling got closer.

Suddenly, a small wolf cub ran-limped into the clearing and stopped when it saw the Westford boy standing there. It pitifully whined at the young man, one of its front paws limp, as he looked back at the sounds of yelling coming closer. Duncan looked at where the pup was looking before making split-second decision. He swiftly ran over and grabbed the pup by the back of its scruff and picked it up. He then tossed the pup into the bush he had just pissed on, much to the pup displeasure from a yelp in response to the young man's action.

"Stay there and don't move!" Duncan hissed out at the pup as the yelling grew nearer; turning back to see two Lannister soldiers, with torches in their hands, come into the clearing. Duncan swallowed as the men looked at him, their faces covered by their helmets, and shined their torches at the Westford boy.

"You there! Have you seen a wolf pup? Dark on its back while light on its belly?" One of the Lannister soldiers essentially yells at Duncan, pretty much demanding that the young man reveal the wolf pup he had just hid.

"No. I haven't, though I did hear this forest was a wolves' forest. Why do you ask?" Duncan heard on the soldiers sigh, shaking his head while his friend seemingly rolled his eyes.

"Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell's direwolf pup, supposedly named Nymeria, attempted to maim Prince Joffrey Baratheon just a few short hours ago. We have orders by the Queen to find the animal and bring it to her and King Robert the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm." Duncan blinked in surprise at the information. He was hiding a direwolf pup, much less a direwolf pup that belonged to the Stark family? Better yet, the pup he was hiding had tried to maim Prince Joffrey?! What had he gotten himself into over a cute animal?

"That is very serious. However, I have not seen such an animal so I wish you good luck on your ventures." Duncan nodded at the Lannister soldiers, who nodded back before leaving the clearing. The yelling kicked up again and eventually went away, to which the direwolf Nymeria slowly limped out of her hiding place. She shook itself clean of the urine she had been thrown into before looking at Duncan, panting as she keenly watched the Westford boy. The young man kneeled down in front of the pup, sighing as he took Nymeria's limp paw in his hand and checked it. There was a rather nasty splinter stuck in her paw, but Duncan could easily pull it out as long as the direwolf didn't move.

"You are certainly one troubled animal, huh Nymeria?" Duncan asked as he began to pull out the splinter, which Nymeria cocked her head to the side as if she understood what the Westford boy had said. The direwolf began to whimper from the pain as the splinter was pulled out, but swiftly stopped once the item had been removed from her paw. As thanks, Nymeria licked Duncan's cheek which earned a laugh from the young man.

"Thanks… I needed that after today. Now get out of here! They're going to keep looking for you and I sadly can't afford to take you along with me. I want to, but I can't afford having lions hunting me. I wish you luck, though. But, I bet you can't even understand me… Whatever the case is, have a good and long life." Duncan rubbed Nymeria's head before lightly patting her towards the woods, earning a sad whimper from the direwolf before she trotted away. After she was gone from his sight, the Westford boy stood back up and began to head back to his camp.

The Butcher's Ward just gave mercy to a direwolf, something lions nor stags would not have.

* * *

"Ya scream like a girl, ya know that? What kind of man screams like a little girl losing her doll? Apparently ya, ya scum of moss!" Duncan sighed with a crooked smile on his face at the woman's words, humored by her now calm-ish attempts to insult the young man. It was the dead of night, the time when most living things are asleep. Duncan's men were asleep, save for Stoin who watched the perimeter of the camp incase any wolves attacked the camp. The Westford boy, meanwhile, decided to speak with the woman they had "saved" earlier that day.

Now that everything had calmed down, Duncan could really look and see who he had been tasked on finding and bringing back. The elder's description was rather accurate with how he described the young woman bound to the tree. She had shoulder length brown hair with matching eyes. Her body was slender, but plump in all the right places. From what the elder creepily said, the "Perfect Woman". All Duncan saw, however, was someone who had wounded him and tried to kill him for no reason known to him. The bandages covering his hands was proof of his thoughts about the young woman in front of him after all!

"Indeed I do. But I wonder, who gave me the wounds to have boiling wine poured over them?" Duncan responded, earning a bark of a laugh from the captive.

"I did, and I'd do it again if I had the chance with ya! Ya killed the love of my life, ya killed my friends, and ya taking me back to be raped and eaten by some cannibal assholes!"

"I'm sorry, but what did you just say about cannibals?" The young man was very confused and surprised at the sudden twist in the conversation. He didn't like that her kidnappers were her friends and that she loved the man she was going to marry as that made him want to asl what did she mean. But the introduction of cannibals was far more important than what he wanted to ask about her friends and lover.

"Yeah! That village is full of cannibals, lead by that freak of an old man. I ran away before I turned twenty moons as that is when he rapes the women. Likes them 'ripe' apparently, which is disgusting let me tell you!" The woman growled back, clearly full of growing anger at the man that had hired Duncan and his band of men.

"Really?! How can you prove this?"

"Why should I tell ya? Ya working for him! Ya killed my friends! Ya killed the man I loved! Why should I tell ya?!"

"I… Want to know so I can respond accordingly."

"Ya going to kill him?"

"Yes, if what you said was true." That earned Duncan a blink from the woman as he looked at her with a serious expression. Duncan was not going to help a cannibal rape and eat a woman he had tricked the young man into kidnapping if everything that was said was true. If everything that had been done was a falsehood told to the Westford boy, then he had dishonored himself by doing it. He would rather die than dishonor himself, so he had to correct the wrong he had done with the death of her friends. Especially the girl who had been dishonored…

"...Ya say that, but I need to know something before I tell ya." The woman eventually spoke after a few moments of silence, her voice seemingly about to crack as she spoke. "What happened to my friend, Meria? What did ya do to her?"

"...She is dead. That is-"

"Ya raped her, didn't ya?!" The woman suddenly surged forth, full of fury as she tried her hardest to rip Duncan's throat out with her teeth. The young man scrambled back a bit, scared that such a thing may happen after her suddenly lunge. After calming down a bit, he kneeled back down and let out a sigh.

"She was raped, but I killed the man who did it. I then killed her to save her from the pain and anguish she had and would continue to have the rest of her life after being dishonored like that." Duncan revealed, trying to keep his voice even as he remembered the girl's lifeless corpse after he had driven his sword into the back of her head. She died instantly, which was a blessing of the Seven compared to choking on a gallon of blood.

The woman struggled for a bit more before slumping back, tears brewing in her eyes as she spoke with a quivering voice. "Y-Ya can find the meat in the old man's basement… There is a hatch under some sacks of corn, in the farthest corner in his filthy home… What do ya plan on doing now?"

"Fulfilling what my honor dictates I do."

* * *

They arrived at the village in the morning, walking into a rather silent place void of life. The band of eleven men, their weapons out, looked carefully around as Duncan and Stoin lead their captive to the elder's home. Duncan was almost as stoic as Stoin was, his hand gripping his sword's handle tight as he lead the way for the group of three. Once they arrived at the door, the young man banged on the wood and shouted out "It's me, Ser Westford! I have the girl."

The door opened to a rather old and disgusting man, not even out of his night-clothes as he rubbed his hands together with a gleeful smile on his face. "Excellent! Bring her in, why don't ya? I'm pour us some ale, yes?"

"Just Stags please. We plan on leaving as soon as we can." The Westford boy said as the three walked into the elder's home, who simply shrugged and went to fetch their money. Stoin and Duncan looked at each other, sharing a knowing glance as the young man's grip on his sword tightened even more.

Eventually, the old man retrieved and handed over the bag of silver Stags, all two hundred of them, to Duncan. Duncan made sure to count them and make sure they were real by biting on them, to which they prove to be real. This would feed and pay the entire band for the next few months if their expenses remained as low as they were now! But, this much for one woman? Certainly strange… The young man handed the bag over to Stoin who put it into a bag he had on his belt, who then drew a knife and began to cut the bonds that held the woman's wrists.

"W-What are ya doing?!" The elder asked, to which Duncan drew his Valyrian Steel sword from its sheath and held its point near the old man's throat. "W-What is the meaning of this?!"

"Lead us to your basement, and you won't die by my hand." The Westford boy coldly responded, earning a shocked gasp from the elder as he pressed his steel against the old man's neck. The old man stumbled back, to which Duncan just kept up with him. He kept up with him all the way to what the woman had described was the entrance to the basement.

"M-Mercy! P-P-Please!" The elder begged, only to be punched by Duncan as he gestured with his blade to move the sacks and reveal the basement. The old man complied, sobbing like a baby as he moved the sacks of corn and opened the basement's entrance. The young man didn't even need to go down there as the light shined on the gutted remains of a human corpse hanging from a meat hook, blood dripping into a barrel while other pieces of meat hanged nearby. That was the only thing Duncan saw, and he didn't want to see anymore.

"L-Let me go now! Ya said I could live!" The elder begged, earning a cold look from the Westford boy.

"I didn't say that. I said you wouldn't die by my hand."

"W-What?" Before the old man could say anything else, the woman grabbed the knife that Stoin was holding and lunged at the elder. She rammed her weapon into the man's throat and face, relentless as she turned everything above his collarbone into a bloodied meat. Once she finished, letting the corpse fall to the floor, she turned to look at Duncan. Her brown eyes blazed with fury as she spat out:

"My name is Dyra. I will join ya band of murderers and rapists as ya have let me avenge the very men and woman that I loved with all of my heart. The very same people ya have killed. And there is nothing ya can do about it!"

* * *

**So. Long chapter, huh? I wrote this all in one sitting, which was almost six hours! I then do what I always do and go over it as best as I can to get rid of stupid stuff and fix any mistakes that I may have made. Anyways, I best respond to the reviews that I have gotten since my last talk with you all!**

**Beach Turtle: Thank you! I'll be honest when I say I am not all that great with writing battle scenes, especially large ones. I can do a decent duel, but for massive battles I tend to poorly in. But I get better with every one I write, so not all hope is lost! I hope you continue reading the fanfiction as I work my way through it.**

**Shade: Thank you! I hope I continue to do great.**

**JudgeDeath2AD: I originally didn't know that the video game Mount & Blade had any connections with Game of Thrones, but after some digging I found out that there are a good amount of mods for it! Thank you for bringing them to my attention. I may use some stuff they have later down the road, but for now I'm going by the books, tv show, and 2012 game. I hope you continue reading the fanfiction!**

**Ragnas Bredvolts: Indeed. Hof will be a rather interesting character in this fanfiction, especially after some of the secrets he has gets spilled.**

**Iyalode: Thank you! There is a rather fantastical tale on how Mors Westford got to where he was, and it will come up time and time again in the fanfiction as new information is brought to life and Duncan meets some of the people that Mors affected during his past. Mors was a man of many secrets, and those secrets will plague Duncan's journey.**

**Now that I am done answering the reviews, I best let you all go huh? I'll see you all at the next set of Author's Notes where I will answer reviews there as well. If I get any more reviews that is. I enjoy the reviews I get as they tell me if I'm on the right track and if I could do better in some way to make the story much more enjoyable. Anyways, I'll stop talking now. Goodbye and see you all later!**


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter Six: Companionship**_

When Dyra announced her "recruitment" into Duncan's band, let it be safely said that Hof was rather not pleased by the development. Rather, he went into a fit of insanity and rage as he pulled forth many reasons why the young woman couldn't simply "join" their band of merry men. The first reason was that she was a woman, plain and simple. Women are the more fragile sex according to Westeros, especially Southern, customs and it would simply be pure insanity to have one ride into battle among men. She did not have a dragon like the famous Warrior-Queens of old, so there was no way she could reasonably be able to defeat a single man in combat. If she was from Bear Island in the North, this point would be moot but she wasn't. She was a simple villager from some hamlet resting on the borders between the Riverlands and the Crownlands.

The second reason was that she would be traveling with a band comprised entirely of men, men who had needs from time to time that only a woman could fulfill. Hof was not ready to face the potential prospect and unnecessary duty of keeping lonely and lustful men away from Dyra's tent so they could have an special night that Dyra may not wish to have. Furthermore, what would happen if one special night resulted in a pregnancy? There was no way a woman burden with the life of a child will be able to fight or even be able to keep pace with the band of warriors. It was simple suicide, and Hof was not going to have such a woman die in such a manner.

The third reason was that she clearly didn't know how to fight properly. Most of the men knew the basics of combat, which allowed them to have a chance in winning in battle. They also had the lifestyles and training to give them the strength and bodies fit to fight. Dyra, on the other hand, did not have such a upbringing that could give her a chance in combat. Seven hells, Hof didn't even believe she knew how to use a spear or sword properly! She knew how to use a knife, well if you count wild stabbing and slashing as quality ability, and she did give Duncan some wounds with her nails as well. But there was no way she would be able to survive a single duel with her current skill level.

There were other reasons, of course, some including how she may be prone to cannibalism, how she may try to kill the band for murdering her lover and friends, and the fact that they didn't even know she had been kidnapped or not! The only things they did know about her was that she used to live in a cannibal hamlet, she has a ferocious attitude, and her name was Dyra. That is all they knew about her, and Hof wasn't going to let some woman they barely know about, and was the center of their latest job, just join the band because she said so. He made sure to at least pass some kind of background check on the men he recruited. Sure he slipped up with that rapist, but for the most part their band consisted with decent fellows. It made absolutely no sense to let such an unknown factor join them!

As for Duncan, honor dictated that Dyra should join their band. Duncan, honestly, did not feel much about killing Dyra's love and her friends. He was sad to cut those that stood against him down, and he felt he had dishonored himself and his band when it was revealed that they had been tricked by the elder. That dishonor had been mostly wiped clean, however, when they helped Dyra take her revenge against the elder. Now, to wipe away the dishonor fully; she would join their band as she has no real future left and they were her only hope to a decent and honorable life in some ways. He still felt bad about killing those she treasured, but did not grieve over them. He barely knew them! Why should he grieve over people he doesn't know and were not close to him?

So Duncan said to let her join, which Hof surprisingly refused to let happen. Hof didn't really object to their band's leader all that much. For the most part, they agreed on most things and went along with well relations. This was pretty much the first major dispute the two had, which resulted in a yelling match of words that nearly broke into a fistfight after thirty minutes of screaming. They would get over it by the day's end after some of the men had them indulge in a bit too much ale, which would result in them singing a dumb shanty they made up on the spot.

So the final deciding factor for Dyra either being a part of or being refused out of the band was the stoic archer, Stoin. He was a simple man when it came to what he wanted. He asked if she could cook as they had no real cook, which she said she could cook several alright meals that can feed a decently sized group. She had been taught by it from a combination from her life in the cannibal village, and while with her lover and her friends. That had Stoin give her the go ahead to join Duncan's band, much to Hof's displeasure.

As such, the band of eleven men, and now one woman, returned to their days of aiding the peasantry through various jobs paid with silver Stags. This went on for another two weeks, which many jobs were done by the band of men lead by Duncan Westford. Such jobs included escorting a group of merchants to the city of Saltpans, helping a joint coalition of villages herd a combined set of cattle to Maidenpool, stand watch over a village as they conducted the nameday feast of their mayor, and over various jobs that paid in various amounts of silver Stags.

During this time, the company's numbers grew to twenty-five bodies along with two carts to carry their goods in. Twenty-two of them were men while the remaining three were woman. Unlike Dyra, the women who joined the band were tavern whores. Hof had no trouble with them as he vetted them and set down rules for them to follow, as he did with all who he recruited. They have to cook, clean, and learn how fight in some manner as all who joined the band; but they were mainly there just to keep the urges of the men sated. Hof even had the whores charge their "customers" as well as give them the set wage everyone in the band got. It was something Hof put in place to have it cost the men to indulge in their urge, some manner of discipling the men into a more proper soldiers in a way. Duncan didn't understand it much when Hof explained it to him, but if it worked then there was no need to tamper with such a system!

Dyra did not partake in her female comrades' trade. She helped cook and clean, like everyone in the band did in some way, but she mainly wished to be on the front lines to fight with the men. She didn't know how to, however, so she decided to enlist the teaching of Duncan himself! The Westford boy, at first, was opposed to it as he hadn't really learn in a way that he could comfortably teach to their feisty female warrior. However, after many threats and indications that he was acting dishonorable; Duncan agreed to train Dyra in the arts of martial warfare.

Which leads to the current day where the band is camping beside a stream, having just finished a job of helping set the foundations of a sept for a decent prize of one hundred Stags and a week's worth of food.

* * *

Duncan wasn't use to the noise yet, if he was being honest. He still remembered how silent it had been with just five men, and with twelve. But with twenty-five people now in his company, sound was more commonplace than silence was these days. Most days he would wake up to the sound of either loud conversation, some item making a noise as someone used it, and to the rare sounds of sex as one of the men indulged in one of the two camp whores. They had tried to seduce Duncan a few days after they had joined the group, probably trying to curry favor with their new leader in some way. But their attempts were swiftly cut off by Hof, of all people. The young man remembered how he had planned to have Duncan deflowered by his nameday, but didn't think that he would be so intent on having his plan carried out! The Westford boy even asked the Westerlander, to which he simply got a semi-cryptic reply of "All people want power. Some use swords to gain it, while others use their genitals." Duncan understood the message behind it, but he didn't really get a definitive answer on why Hof had protected the young man.

Now though, Duncan was wide awake and ready to show Dyra how to become a warrior; just like how his Uncle Mors had done so. His Uncle was a harsh teacher when it came to the art of martial warfare. But that harshness was often overshadowed by how skilled and flawless Mors Westford had been when he fought. Duncan hadn't been able to beat his Uncle ever since he started his training, and he honestly believed that he would never had been able to until the old man couldn't even get out of bed due to his age! That was how powerful Mors Westford was, which made Duncan even more sad as he wondered how many of the Black Men had to be there in order to slay his Uncle.

The Westford boy stood in a small area of grass near the camp, holding two carved blocks of wood. They had been fashioned into some sort of club/sword hybrids, thanks to Stoin the stoic archer, and would be the main instruments for battle today. The young man would have to thank the man later as this was quality work. Maybe he had a history in woodworking? Who knew about the mysterious man… Anyways; he had his armor on, and he was somewhat eager to see Dyra's appearance. During their visit to Maidenpool, the young woman bought herself a set of armor that she would wear into combat until something better came into her hands. She had yet to wear it as they had not done any real dangerous missions that would require actual battle. But today, she would get her first taste of what combat will be like so she must wear her armor.

Eventually, Dyra appeared in the clearing in her attire of armor. It was a simple common soldiers outfit, similar to many of the sets of armor found in the band at the moment. It was a brown gambeson with padded leggings, which either went with a helmet of some kind or without. Dyra had chosen to have a helmet, wearing a sallet without a visor like those of the common foot soldiers of the Starks. In Duncan's humble opinion, she looked rather nice! She will be able to survive a deathblow or two against the common cutthroat.

"Are you ready to begin?" Duncan asked, tossing one of the wooden practice weapons over to Dyra for her to catch. The young man was a preparing himself slightly in his mind at what he had to do. He didn't want to be as harsh as his Uncle Mors was, but he knew no other way. If Dyra wanted to learn now, then she would learn with what the young man was able to teach.

"Of course I am! I reckon I'm going to be better than ya by the end of this year." Dyra confidently answered, catching the wooden weapon with ease and swiftly getting into a battle stance. Duncan stood there in confusion for a bit, looking at the young woman before him, before realizing that she did not know what she was doing. She was holding her weapon on its "bladed end" instead of the "handle". There was no real difference in all honest, one end being thicker than the other, but it would make sense in battle if she ever decided to carry a bladed weapon that wasn't a knife.

"You're holding your weapon incorrectly. Turn it around, and then we can begin. The first person to three landed 'kill blows' wins the round. Let us begin…" The young man took a stance as he watched Dyra grumble before turning her wooden club/sword around to hold it properly. Once done so, the sparring duel officially began as the two began to circle each other. Dyra struck first, wildly swinging at Duncan's torso in attempt to get the first "kill blow".

Duncan easily blocked the attack with a solid swing of his own weapon as he marched forward, shoving his shoulder into the young woman. That threw her off balance as she tried to regain in a stumble, which the Westford boy took advantage of to land two "kill blows" on her torso instead of the intended one on his. Dyra recovered and tried to strike Duncan once more, only to have her weapon by smacked out of her hand and thrown to the ground with a smack of his hand across her face. He took the final "kill blow" by thrusting his weapon onto her helmet, ending the round in a flawless victory for Duncan Westford.

"Y-Ya cheated!" Dyra mumbled as he head was kept to the ground by Duncan's weapon, only to let up once Duncan took his position away from the young woman.

Duncan took his battle stance once more, waiting for the young woman to get up and take her position as well. As he waited, he said "You were too predictable and too easy to get off balance. Balance is everything in combat, as is unpredictability. If you stumble, you will die. If you are too predictable, you will die. If you do not learn this, you will die." The young man spoke as if this was something he had been born with. Really, it was just years of it being repeated to him by his Uncle. His Uncle was the greatest fighter he ever knew, so Duncan believed that his words were truth.

Eventually, Dyra stood back up and re-took her battle stance against the young Westford boy. They once again circled each other before Duncan, this time, took the first step with a swift stab at the young woman's throat. Dyra ducked down and stabbed back, knowing that there was no way that Duncan could block her attack. She was, sadly, proven wrong as the young man used his free hand to grab Dyra's weapon and rip it out of her hands. He then used it to smack her across the face, sending her back down onto the ground once more before whacking her two more times to win him the match.

"Combat may seem honorable, but it never is when your life is on the line. All will do everything they can to win the deadly struggle, which will include everything from punching someone in their member to summoning shadows to fight for them." Duncan didn't really understand about the latter example his Uncle provided in all honest. It sounded too fantastical to be a part of reality, much less combat itself. But Mors seemed rather keen on that example, so the Westford boy remembered it well.

Duncan dropped Dyra's weapon beside her, stepping back to take his battle stance once more. Once more, the young woman stood back up with fresh bruises and took her battle stance as well. And then they fought, with Duncan winning once more. Duncan would continue to win without a single hit upon his person for the next hour, always having Dyra thrown down to the ground with fresh bruises on her person every single time.

But everytime she stood back up, she got a little bit better from what Duncan noticed. Slowly but surely Dyra learned from her mistakes and kept fighting with stoic determination that Duncan couldn't help but admire. She didn't know when to give up, and that made Duncan like her despite how annoying it can be at times. She sort of reminded him of a faithful dog, if that was good thing to compare a woman to? He honestly didn't know anything better as his Uncle's dog was an amazing beast that was loyal to the old man till the bitter end.

On their final duel before Duncan had to leave to go discuss certain things with Hof, things went very differently from all the other duels. Dyra had instigated the exchange of blows first with a thrust, which Duncan had cautiously blocked. They then exchanged a flurry of blows, wood slamming against each other loudly, as they swayed back in forth in the tide of battle. Eventually, Dyra pulled back and thrusted once more to which Duncan went to block. However, the young woman's attack was a feint that left the Westford boy wide open to a well-deserved blow across his spine. Such a blow was delivered, giving Dyra her first "kill blow" out of the entire hour of training.

Duncan suddenly tackled Dyra when this happened, growling out in anger as he slammed themselves onto the ground below with a thud; both of them dropping their weapons in the process along with the young woman losing her helmet. The Westford boy raised his fist up to punch the young woman in the face while holding her down by grabbing her throat, before swiftly realizing that this probably wasn't the best idea. That, and maybe it was time to stop before someone got truly hurt.

Breathing heavily, the two looked at each other while in the position before separating. Duncan stood up first before helping Dyra up next, the poor woman wobbling from all of the bruises she got from the training sessions she had just been put through. Duncan held on to her and gave her a tired smile as he spoke.

"I think you may be right, Dyra! Maybe you'll be as good as me by the year's end. Or maybe not… Who knows?" The Westford boy said, earning a tired chuckle from the young woman as she leaned heavily against the young man. It was pretty clear that she was barely awake as it was once all of the adrenaline from the combat went away, and from how heavy she was leaning on Duncan then she was going to need help walking as well!

"Come on… Let's get back to your tent, shall we?"

* * *

Duncan left Dyra's tent with sweat on his face, a fresh bruise on his back, and the desire to retire to his tent for a while to gather energy. However, he had to meet with Hof to discuss where the band would go next on its wandering journey for work and other important things like supplies and the budget. In all honesty, Duncan hated talking about the budget and inventory. He was never good with numbers and specifics. They were so boring compared to plotting their destination or what strategies they could employ should a battle come. Those were far more interesting, especially the latter one as Duncan could let his mind roam freely to figure out good strategies. Strategies that wouldn't fail like the one back then. He would not have another Ragnar dying on him.

He couldn't afford to lose Hof.

When he entered Hof's tent, he found a strange sight before him. The Westerlander appeared to be rather serious as he examined a small scroll of parchment in his hands. On a table next to him was a raven with a single white feather on its right wing, crowing softly as it sat there. Duncan didn't need to say a single question as Hof held out the parchment to the Westford boy to take.

"I'll tell the men. Best write out a reply soon before we earn his ire…" Hof said as he walked out of the tent, leaving Duncan all by himself with the crow. Interested in what made Hof so serious, the young man looked at the scroll of parchment and began to read. As he read the letters, he slowly felt dread build up on his shoulders at the contents of the scroll.

_Duncan of House Westford,_

_I've heard much about you, young lord, as of late. It is not often that my little birds inform me of good men who do good deeds while other men pursue other ambitions. I do not believe you know me personally, but I must know that you know of me. Whatever the case is, I have a task for you that will aid Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm._

_There is a man known as Kruik the Rat who holds information that may plunge the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros into civil war. As we both know, war is a terrible toll on the common people and it is rather dishonorable to let such a thing happen if one can prevent it. He is currently being held prisoner by a clan of bandits at an abandoned holdfast near Rosby. The lord of Rosby, Lord Gyles Rosby, will be sending a force to pacify the bandits in a fortnight according to my little birds. However, should his men come across Kruik, who will most certainly spill forth the information he knows; the knowledge revealed will send Westeros into civil war. I must beg of you to go and silence Kruik by any means necessary to preserve the peace that the Seven Kingdoms knows. If you accept the task and complete the task, then I will send a man to Rosby to award you with twenty gold Dragons for your work. If you refuse my humble request, then I am afraid your dishonorable action will cause thousands to die unnecessary deaths!_

_I patiently await a reply,_

_Varys, The Master of Whisperers._


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter Seven: Attack on the Holdfast**_

Three days. Duncan Westford and his band of twenty-five men managed to make it to their destination within three days before Lord Gyles Rosby and his banners would arrive. It was certainly a trail to get to the abandoned holdfast that held their target. Duncan wondered how he had stumbled into the Spider's web, he really did. His Uncle Mors warned him not to attract the attention of Varys. Nothing good would come out of the Westford boy being in the Spider's web, and yet here he was with his men scouting out the bandit infested holdstead they must get through to find one man.

Kruik the Rat was that man, the target they needed to find and get rid of. A man who knew something that would plunge all of Westeros into bloody civil war. A man taken prisoner by some unknown bandits for some odd reasons. A man that would blab the moment Lord Gyles Rosby found him. This was a man that the Spider wanted gone, and he had employed the Butcher's Ward to make it so.

Duncan didn't have the option to refuse the Spider's request. He had appealed to his sense of honor and Duncan had to prevent any potential dishonor. "Death over Dishonor" was the Westford motto and Duncan lived by this motto with everything he had. He would rather die than dishonor himself by letting Westeros plunge into civil war once again. He had to find this Kruik and he would go through a bandit's holdfast to do so.

Hof didn't like it when they were manipulated like this, especially by someone like the Spider. Hof heard tales of the eunuch of a man known as Varys. Tales that spelled out hidden desires and agendas that used men such as Duncan. Hof hated being a pawn to something like this, a pawn that would eventually be sacrificed or discarded once it was no longer needed. It didn't help that Duncan became a pawn due to his honor. The young man's honor always seemed to get the Westerlander some manner of a headache, whether it directly caused it or was just a byproduct…

As such, they had three days to get to Kruik the Rat and fulfill the job that Duncan had assigned his band to complete; plenty of time for the band of men. One of those days will be made of blood, without a doubt…

* * *

"How many do you see Stoin?" Duncan asked the stoic archer as the two, Hof, and one other man waited hidden in a nearby forest near the enemy's holdfast. The band had settled down a league away from their current location, waiting for the information the four scouts would bring back once they examined the crumbling structure that was their target.

The holdfast was in rather poor repair, which was good news for the band of sellswords. One of the walls had all but crumbled away, only reinforced with wooden spikes hammered into the piles of rubble that used to be the wall. The other walls were still standing, but they were in so poor of a condition that a single boulder would smash it apart with ease. Beyond the walls was a small keep that most certainly held the man that they were here for. All that remained of the knowledge they desired was how many enemies stood between Duncan and his men from Kruik the Rat.

"I see… Three standing guard and about five walking around the courtyard from what I can see. I don't know about the inside or those behind the actual walls of this ruin. I can't see them." Stoin answered, his eyes in a deep narrow glare as the stoic archer examined the holdfast before the group of scouts.

"That's not good. I hate it when we don't have at least estimated numbers." Hof mumbled out as he looked around, keeping watch just in case someone was trying to sneak up on them. Duncan agreed with his friend on that point. Things often went smoother when they had more information to approach their task with. They could plan around those numbers with their own and be able to make a plan that was less likely to fail. Plans always helps give order in the middle of chaos after all!

"We should go before they see us. Who knows how good their eyes are!" The extra man suggested as he shifted on his other leg to kneel on. The man had a point. They had things to do, and it wasn't likely they were going to get more information unless they were willing to risk being discovered by the enemy. That was the last thing Duncan and his men wanted before they attacked the bandits.

"Good idea. Let's head back! Hof, call the men so we can make the plan. Stoin, you get to keep watch. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Of course, Duncan." With that, the four scouts sneaked away from their position and went back to the band's camp; only stopping their slow sneaking once they were far enough from the enemy. When they arrived at the camp, Duncan could see that the band was gearing up for war. Most of the men were either maintaining their weapons and armor, taking drinks of liquid courage with their comrades, having turns with the camp whores, or were simply taking naps to gather the energy they needed for the battle ahead. No fires had been lit, express orders from Duncan himself of all people. Duncan had learned from his Uncle that fire created smoke, and smoke was often a signal for men to use before the flaming chaos of battle. That meant that if they started a fire, the smoke that fire give off would alert the enemy to their position if Duncan's logic was sound. As such, no fires were lit and they had to eat cold food as a result. But, cold food was temporary unless the person died that day. Then that cold food was their last meal…

Duncan saw Dyra off in the distance as the four scouts walked into camp, the others going off to do what they needed to do while Duncan loitered in front of his tent. He watched the young woman swing her weapon, a lighter version of a falchion, in what appeared to be a shadow-duel with some invisible opponent. The young man felt a smile tug at his lips while he watched her. She was really invested into becoming a better warrior so she could fight alongside Duncan, Hof, Stoic, and the other men in the band. It was charming in a way, but also a bit worrying at what may come.

Eventually, most of the men, and Dyra, were called over by Hof to attend the strategy meeting that Duncan was going to lead. If he was to be honest, the Westford boy was very nervous about this strategy meeting. Most of the time, the meetings were simple affairs made to deal with simple and easy tasks. But when it came to something as serious as this, Duncan couldn't help but feel fear start to crawl down his spine in a cold shuffle. He had only hosted one other meeting such as this, and that was back when he was hired to protect and save Hof's village from those bandits. The battle that saw Dyra's introduction to the band didn't have a meeting. The only thing that was even a strategy was "kill any who resisted" and "save the girl". No fancy tactics like the battle for Hof's village.

And now, this would be the second strategy meeting that would require such planning. Duncan had thought and practiced ever since that fateful day, and here would be the test that either made or broke the back of the band.

"This is everyone that isn't standing guard or using one of the whores right now, Duncan. Shall we begin?" Hof asked as the group of nineteen warriors waited for the Westford boy to begin the meeting. Swallowing a bit of saliva, the young man took his Valyrian Steel sword out and began to draw a crude version of the broken holdfast that was their target. After drawing the holdfast, Duncan began to speak and draw what he spoke. He had to sound confident, sound like he was in control and what he though was right but open to ideas. He had to sound like a proper commander, and his mind was burning with fear at the ongoing attempt of it.

"Alright… This is where the battle will take place in. From what the scouts have discovered, there should be at least eight enemies on sight when we first approach the holdfast. We do not know the exact number, but we do have an idea that there is probably more hiding inside the holdfast's keep. That is where our target is at and we needed to cut our way to him if we have any hope of getting to him." Duncan drew some circles in the holdfast's drawing, things to signify the enemies they will first encounter, before moving outside of the building to draw some lines and more circles. "We are going to form a shield wall, or regular line with how many of use don't have shields, and advance through the breach in the walls. The wall will be supported with our spearmen, or what men have weapons that have some reach, in a line behind the wall and our archers on a nearby hill to take out anyone on the surrounding walls. Once we get inside the holdfast, we need to push our way to the entrance of the keep using a concave line to keep the enemy from flanking us. I also want some small squads to climb the surrounding walls to take out any enemies up there not already dead, and I want the archers to supplement them once they are gone. If the enemy doesn't break through our line and we manage to make it to the entrance to the keep, then we could win this! Any questions?" The young man asked after having drawing some arrows to show how they were going to advance and move against the enemy.

"I got one!" One of the men in the crowd raised his hands to be called upon, which Duncan did with a point of his sword. "Will there be anyone to protect the camp while we're off fighting just in case some escape and stumble on this place?"

"Yes. I plan on having at least four people, not including the women, to stand guard just in case such a thing happens."

"What do ya mean 'including the women'?" Dyra was the one to ask this, her eyes narrowing at Duncan's choice of words. Duncan steeled his mind for what was coming in the next few moments.

"You will be staying with the other women during the battle, as one of the guards, Dyra." Duncan answered, biting his lip when he saw rage fill the young woman's expression at what the Westford boy had just said.

"What?! How dare ya! I am ready for battle, and I refuse to be babysitter for some whores and bread!" Dyra stepped out of the crowd, coming up to the young man's face before poking her finger onto his chest. "I will be joining the front line and that is that! Understand me?"

"I do, but I must refuse your demands." Duncan lightly moved the young woman's finger off of his chest as he spoke. "You are not ready to fight. With what training you have right now, there is no way you can be able to defeat a single opponent in a duel; much less be able to last an entire battle without some kind of injury! It would be best if you stayed behind and stood guard over the camp."

"Bullshit! I am ready! I can hit ya in our sparring sessions together, so I can easily kill someone in a real duel!"

"Yes, you can hit me. But you have yet to knock me off of my feet and you have yet to win a single match! If you can't win a single sparring match, then you can't win a real duel."

"Then I might as well get some more experience then. Which means I should be in the battle!"

"No! A real battle is nothing like our sparring sessions. There is no one who will just let you stand back up after you get off your feet, nor will be willing to let you live. If you lose, you will die! There is no other alternative and I will not have you die just because you are reckless and thirsty for some blood on your blade."

"But I-"

"No more 'buts'! I will not discuss this any more as I will not entertain a foolish death wish. Either you stand guard, or I will put you on latrine duty for a whole week! Understood?!"

"..."

"I said, 'Understood?!'"

"Yes… Sir…" Silence coated the atmosphere of the camp after the intense argument Duncan and Dyra had, ending with the young Westford boy using his authority as the leader of the band to put down the young woman's protest of getting guard duty instead of being a part of the battle. It was clear that the young man was not going to have the woman throw her inexperienced life away while she was still training to be a good enough warrior to win at least one duel.

"...Any other questions?" Duncan asked, receiving silence as the answer to his question. "Alright. Everyone get ready. We march once the sun starts to dip towards the sky. I doubt the enemy will be expecting us coming for them." And with that, the crowd of warriors and sellswords dispersed to gather their gear, gather their courage, and pray to their gods to survive the coming battle. Who knew if they were going to win or lose, even with a strategy laid before them? That was to be seen once the roar of battle commenced and the blood of the descendants of the Andals and maybe even the First Men watered the ground below them.

* * *

Duncan felt the ale he drank remain in his mouth and throat as he steadily marched in the front line, his Sarwyck shield's handle cold against his skin as him and the nineteen remaining warriors of his band headed into battle. Stoin had been the one to offer him the drink before they left the safety of the woods. It was suppose to calm his senses and give him courage if Stoin's words were correct. Duncan didn't really know if he agreed with what Stoin said as the young man still felt nervous for the coming battle. That, and a tiny bit excited.

It had been a while since he smelled the smells of death, the sight of a man's soul leaving his body, and the feeling of blood splashing across his face. Sure he hadn't been free from battle itself, having been training Dyra in the art of combat, but it just wasn't the same. Had he grown a taste for death and killing? A taste that he desired to fulfill? Whatever the case was, he was still afraid for the battle ahead as that strange desire lurked in the back of his mind.

Duncan and his band of men managed to make it halfway to the crumbling holdfast before they were spotted, warning horns being sounded as the bandits scrambled to prepare themselves for the sudden appearance of enemies heading towards them. Duncan, swallowing down some of the ale still coating the inside of his mouth, called out "Shields! Double march… Now!" All of the men who had shields swiftly held them out, making a very motley shield wall that didn't cover the full first line. Nor did it help that most of the men seemed either too eager or scared to remain in formation for much longer. They hadn't really practiced battle discipline among his band like those found in the professional armies of Westeros, preferring that each man to do what they thought best as long as they worked together. So Duncan had to move them quick before their battle lines dissolved into a chaos.

Duncan stifled a gasp when an arrow suddenly bounced off of his shield, the offending projectile dropping onto the dirt after failing to injure the Westford boy. The young man looked up and saw a few enemy archers, most of them clearly dazed due to either alcohol or having just woken up, fire upon the mass of men heading towards them. Most of their shots either missed, were blocked by shields, or were just dodged. But a few did find their marks among the men that made up Duncan's ranks, which thankfully were just either glancing wounds other than one that caught the throat of the man on the right of Duncan; his lifeless corpse dropping onto the ground.

The enemy archers' impunity didn't last long as Duncan's own archers answered back, their arrows more accurate than their opponents. Lead by Stoin, the ever stoic archer, managed to force some of the archers to back away from viable range after laying a few of their comrades out on the crumbling stonework with their lifeblood staining the stone itself. With the archers out of the way, all that left was the rest of the bandits that were rushing out of the keep and towards the band of Duncan's men marching towards them.

From what Duncan could count, at least twenty-five of them were rushing out to meet him and his men in combat. They were already outnumbered, and this was just the men who were coming out to face them! Who knew how many were still inside the keep, waiting for Duncan and his band to enter into their obvious ambush. Duncan didn't wish to guess how many were waiting to kill him inside that moldy ruin, but he knew that it would be battle both outside and inside. All just for one man who knew something that could tear the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros apart…

The two sides met in a mighty clash, men from both side fighting for their survival and to kill their opponents. Duncan's first one was a easy victory for the Westford boy, using his shield to block his enemy's attack before ramming his sword through the man's right elbow to reach his heart. His blade did reach the bandit's heart, to which he pushed off of his Valyrian Steel sword so he could fight his second opponent.

The next bandit to fight Duncan was a flail, which forced Duncan to back away while in the swirling mass of combat as he avoided having his head caved in by his opponent's weapon. After a few steps back, the young man ducked under the flail and shoved his opponent onto the ground with a quick slam of his shield. He finished off the man with a stomp of his foot, the bandit's head crumbling inward as the hell of the young man rammed itself into his opponent's skull.

The young man hissed when a stray arrow grazed by his cheek, carving a faint and light wound across his cheekbone, before having his third opponent charge at him with a massive swing with a crude mace. The Westford boy easily dodged the attack and stabbed the bandit in the back of the neck to kill him while his opponent stumbled forward due to the momentum of his attack. He didn't even get a chance to even get a single breath to recover himself as he barely dodged a spear from behind, barely dodging it as it tore a small hole into the wool as it bounced off of the chainmail woven into it. He then grabbed the spear and tried to pull it forward to slam his newest opponent's face against his shield, only to have it viciously tug back. The young man turned around as he commenced into a makeshift tug-of-war against his opponent, only to be completely stunned at what laid before him.

Toiia Rivers, the bastard that ran away during the battle in Hof's village, was standing right before Duncan; trying to rip his spear out of the young man's grasp. He looked like what he had the last time Duncan had seen him with his shallow cheeks and faint dragon armor on his body. When the former soldier of the Targaryens noticed who he was fighting, he stopped and gasped as well. The two former allies looked at each other, silent as the roar of battle occured all around them as their minds went a mile a minute.

Duncan opened his mouth to say something, only to yell out in pain as he felt a sharp pain erupt from the side of his leg. He looked down and saw that Toiia had rammed his dagger into the Westford boy's leg, pulling out the bloodied blade before pushing the young man to the ground. He then snarled as Toiia ripped his spear out of the young man's grasp and began to run away; clearly deserting once more as the battle shifted against the bandits and towards Duncan's men.

The Westford boy tried to pick himself up to go after the deserter, snarling as the wound's pain flared up when he put pressure on the offending leg. He hoped that Hof would take notice of Toiia, but from what Duncan could see the Westerlander was too busy trying to fight off two bandits at once with his knives and sword. It seemed like Toiia was going to get away once again, and there was nothing that Duncan was going to do about it.

Suddenly, he saw Toiia back away as what appeared to be a sword nearly cut the man's throat wide open. He rolled onto his side and felt anger blossom throughout his body when he saw Dyra try to fight Toiia, disobeying the task that Duncan had ordered her to do. He heard himself let out a dangerous growl as he got onto his feet, just missing as Toiia slammed Dyra against the ground with a smack of his spear across her face; bruising her cheek with a proper bruise.

Duncan stumbled on over to the young woman and saved the dazed warrior just as a bandit was about to ram his axe into her skull, tackling the enemy to the ground. The Westford boy was in a ripe rage as he beat the poor man to death with his shield, turning the bandit's face into a fine mush of blood and meat from the devastating pummeling. He then rolled off of the corpse and pulled himself to Dyra's side, panting heavily as he felt the pain in his leg start to sear itself throughout his body.

"You bloody fool!" Duncan roared out as he slapped Dyra across her face, bruising her other cheek as well as snapping her out of her daze. He was full of rage and in pain, a dangerous combination to be in while in the middle of battle. Why had Dyra disobey her orders and come to the battle? She clearly wasn't ready, and she had almost died for it. What was she thinking?!

"I'm just trying to help! I want to show that I'm not some drain on this band by slaying its enemies!" Dyra answered back with her own shout, placing a hand over her new bruise as she hissed in pain. She clearly didn't like being called a fool, much less being slapped for it by a boy three moons her junior. How could he just let a fresh sword be wasted on guard duty after all?

"You almost died, and I refuse to have someone die when they could live! What logic in your damning head believes I am wrong on that account?" Duncan snarled in pain when he began to staunch the flow of blood coming from his leg. He didn't think it hit a place where his vapors were concentrated in, but it certainly hurt like the Seven Hells combined into one!

"Are you okay?" Duncan turned his head to look at Hof as he spoke, panting from a combination of exhaustion and pain as he kept a hand on his bleeding leg.

"No… I'm not. Get me a bandage." Duncan growled out as he tried to stop himself from screaming. What kind of dagger did Toiia have to cause such pain?! Was he poisoned? Did he bleed out too much? Why was he hurting so much?!

"Alright. Dyra, stay here with Markus and tend to Duncan's wound. I'm going to lead the men into the keep and find what we came here for." Hof ordered, easily taking over command while Duncan laid wounded on the ground. The man that Hof had called Markus, a man with brown hair and built like he had worked as a farm hand for all of his life, kneeled down with his mace beside him and began to press down on Duncan's wound. He offered a semi-clean rag to Dyra, who took it in her hands as she tried to clean out any dirt that may have been tainting the makeshift bandage.

"...So what do ya plan on doing to me now?" Dyra asked the Westford boy as she began to bandage the young man's wound. That was a good question as Duncan began to calm down off of his high of rage, pain, and adrenaline. At first, he wanted to beat Dyra to a bloody pulp and kick her out of the band for disobeying Duncan with such reckless stupidity. Then, as he calmed down, he let his mind take over and think about what he was going to do with the young woman taking care of his wound alongside the farm hand.

"Latrine duty, one month." Duncan answered as Dyra finished bandaging his wound and Markus stopped pressing down on it. "And you get to maintain the band's carts for a month as well. Do I make myself clear?"

"Ya do…" And with that, the three waited for Hof to return; which he did shortly. Duncan was a bit surprised by that, expecting to have to wait at least an hour to see his friend again. Was the enemy inside the holdfast's keep that easy?

"They ran once they realized their men were losing outside, but they didn't take Kruik Duncan! We got him, and I killed him; which was a mercy to the lunatic." Hof explained as he kneeled down and helped place Duncan back onto his feet, acting as support to the limping Westford boy.

"What did he say, and how did they escape?" Duncan asked, looking around the battlefield to find Toiia's corpse. He felt a grim frown form on his face when he didn't see the deserter's corpse, just the enemy and a few of their own. That meant the company numbered to twenty heads now after counting the bodies that belonged to Duncan's band. How did Toiia escape? He soon heard the answer from Stoin as he muttered swears to himself about how a man could take two arrows in his back and still run away. With that news, Duncan felt his mood brighten a little bit. Toiia did escape, but he didn't escape uninjured. If anything, he was going to die real soon...

"We found that there was a passage that went straight into some kind of cave system, which we didn't bother to go after as they would have picked us clean through ambushes. As for Kruik, he spoke nonsense about Aegon Targaryen."

"'Aegon Targaryen'? Wasn't that the Targaryen baby that was killed by the Mountain when the Lannisters attacked King's Landing?"

"Indeed. He was saying how Aegon wasn't dead but hiding out in the East with his hair dyed blue or purple, biding his time to come and attack Westeros. He kept saying how he needed to tell King Robert about it so that they could purge the houses that would support the return of the Targaryens. Certainly mad I tell you! How can a dead child try to take the Iron Throne?!"


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter Eight: A Sellsword's Moment**_

"I honestly never knew you could sow, and pretty well I might add! I doubt I'm going to have a scar after what you've done to my wound." Duncan said as he felt the tight stricture of Hof's needlework seal his most recent wound shut, letting it heal underneath a tight embrace of clean bandages. Duncan and his band of twenty men and women successfully prevented a civil war from destroying Westeros by defeating a group of bandits keeping one man who knew an insane "truth" just a few days ago. Duncan didn't really understand why Lord Varys said that Kruik had knowledge that would plunge the Seven Kingdoms into war as the insane fool literally had information all knew. Aegon Targaryen was dead, not alive in some Free City in the East. After all, it is hard to call someone alive when they are supposed to have had their heads destroyed when a evil brute smashed them against a stone wall during the Sack of King's Landing! If anything, Duncan was starting to think that Lord Varys just tricked Duncan into doing Lord Gyles Rosby's work for him. It was a rather scummy thing to do! Why not just tell him to do it? Westeros is always better off with fewer bandits, which it seems to have a lot of when Duncan thought about it. Why wasn't the King or one of his many noble houses making an effort to cleanse the land of bandits…?

Whatever the case was, the band of sellswords lead by the Westford boy had completed their task and had received their payment for it. Twenty gold Dragons, which was about a couple thousand silver Stags if Hof's math was correct! Duncan and his band of men and women had never been this rich in its short life as a group of sellswords and whores. Duncan could afford to purchase better equipment for the men instead of what they have right now, which would most certainly increase the effectiveness of the entire band's martial power as a result. He could also, as Hof pointed out, afford to raise the company's wages and recruit more men to join their band. But if one was to pay in silver Stags then one needed to own Stags equal to the other currency, which the band had but not equal to the Dragons they possessed. They only had about five hundred Stags, only worth about two and some Dragons if Hof's math was correct as well. They needed to trade their Dragons in to some kind of bank or money-lender if they were to possess the silver Stags they need. That, or earn Stags through some more jobs and tasks; which may take too long…

"Sowing is actually a really useful skill, you know? Has too many uses to count on both of my hands alone. I don't know why they only teach girls how to sow as men should be able to do so as well! They're going to need some way to seal a wound after all, and why not with the art of sowing?" Hof and Duncan were all alone in their meeting tent, the one where all of the planning and strategizing took place. They were seated one some wooden chairs at that portable table Hof bought when they bought the carts, which allowed for more goods to be carried around like tables and chairs. Duncan had his wounded leg on the table right next to a small cup of ale, letting the wound be elevated like Stoin suggested Duncan do as much as he could. The young man was watching Hof as he examined a single gold Dragon coin in his hand while the other held his own cup of ale, the bag that contained the rest of the coins in his lap as he rubbed his thumb over the worn metal of the precious coin in his hand.

"I can tell, and feel it! It's itchy, which means it is healing if my Uncle was correct about how wounds work." Duncan was really tempted to itch the knife wound that had been driven into his leg during the battle at the holdfast a few days ago. That had been certainly a pretty tense battle with the amount of bandits that fought back, the appearance of Toiia Rivers on the enemy side, and Dyra almost getting herself killed after disobeying Duncan's orders. Duncan still couldn't believe that they managed to win with so few dead, which Duncan often kept out of his mind. He couldn't be burdened by their deaths, or he wouldn't be able to live in this world. But, his mind was getting off track so he decided to speak again, saying "Why did you learn stuff like this? As you said, girls are the one who learn that skill; not boys!"

"I kept accidently ripping my clothes as a child while I played in the Godswood, which caused my father to often yell and hit me when I did so. So to prevent it, I decided to ask the Septa to teach me how to sow so I didn't get in trouble all that often! It worked as my father didn't yell or hit me as much after that." Hof chuckled as he put the gold Dragon back into the bag, tying it back up before placing it onto the table.

"You played in a Godswood? You knew a Septa? Your father yelled and beat you? What was your childhood, Hof?" Duncan asked, now curious at Hof's reveal of some part of his early childhood. Duncan had found that Hof never really spoke much about his past. He only spoke about small events, things that most children would also experience. This, however, was something new which intrigued the young man.

Hof shifted a bit in his seat when the Westford boy spoke, his good humor clearly fading slightly as a frown grew on the Westerlander's face. Turning his head away, Hof said "My father was a guardsman in Casterly Rock, so I often got to go there and play in their Godswood. It was also where I met the Septa there and we became friends. It's as simple as that…"

"Huh… I never would have guessed…" Duncan hummed as he digested the information, rocking his chair back and forth. So Hof was the son of a guard that worked in Casterly Rock. That sounded like a rather interesting childhood, one which Duncan wanted to learn more about sometime later. But he saw that Hof wasn't in the best mood to talk about it right now, so he decided to ask "How did you get so good with knives? It seems like there is no one in all of Westeros better than you."

Hof relaxed slightly at the new question, taking a drink of his ale before setting the cup to the side, and took out one of his many knives that stayed hooked onto his belt. "Knives are one of the easiest and most useful things to have ever been invented. It is in our blood to use them, and I've trained my blood to be as best as I can with these prestigious weapons. Speaking of which, you needed to carry a knife into battle!"

"What? Why would I do that? I already have a sword and a shield. So why would I need another weapon to use in combat?" Duncan scratched his head as Hof pointed at the young man with his knife, waving it slightly to try to put emphasis on his words.

"There will be times when swords and shields cannot cut it in combat, which is where knives come in to take their place. It can be used real close to finish off an enemy, especially if no other weapon can reach pass your opponent's defenses. A knife will save your life! That I guarantee!"

"It's not as honorable as a sword…"

"Well too bad! Combat is about survival, remember? I heard you making that speech to Dyra so don't go back on your word because of the honor a sword holds! I'll give you one of my knives until you get your own, and that is that. Understand me?" The young Westford boy grumbled a bit before nodding, upset that his Westerlander friend was essentially forcing the young man to do something. Who was the leader of the band of men and women surrounding the tent right now? Certainly not Hof, that is for sure…

But Duncan was grateful that Hof was helping him out, and also reminding of him of what he says to Dyra during their training sessions. Honestly, the young man had no idea where he would be without the aid and support of his Westerlander friend. With Hof by his side, Duncan felt like they had some idea what they were going to do next in their lives, and that was more than enough for the Westford boy currently. Sometimes, Duncan feels like Hof is truly the leader of the band instead of the Westford boy. Then again; it is Duncan who selects the jobs, decides where they should go next, what they should do, how to fight in battle, and other things that a leader must do for their group of followers. If he does those kinds of things, that also makes him the leader of the band despite Hof recruiting, paying, and organizing the band.

The young man wonders if this is how Kings feel about their Hands, like King Robert with his late Hand…

"When is your nameday again?" Hof asked, sheathing his knife before picking his cup of ale back up to take a drink of it. Duncan knew his friend already memorized what date the Westford boy was born, but always kept asking so that he could talk and plan what he wanted to do with the young man on that day. It was nice, in a way.

"In three months, two months before the year's end" Hof hummed at Duncan's answer as he sipped his drink, placing it back onto the table after he was done with it; nodding his head as pulled the map that was on the table closer to them.

"That's right! So, we've planned to go to King's Landing and deflower you at Chataya's Brothel. I recommended you get Marei for your first as we're acquaintances, though you can do any that catch your fancy as I will be paying for it. That sounds like a wonderful nameday for your ten and six moons!" That was the plan that was always repeated to Duncan whenever Hof talked about the young man's nameday. It was silly, really, but the Westerlander seemed really excited to do something like this for the young man so Duncan went along with it.

"You don't have to pay for me… I can handle it myself!" He said, earning a shake of Hof's head.

"No! Nameday gifts are never paid for by the nameday person themselves! You are my friend, and you are about to be a legal adult. So I'll give you a day where you could enjoy unknown pleasure on your first day as an adult. My gift to you! And if you don't like it, then I'll just keep giving you gifts until you like one of them. You understand me, Westford?" Duncan didn't know what to say. Hof was really a wonderful friend to the young man sitting at the table beside him. Duncan had to figure out what Hof would like for his nameday. Maybe knives or a trip to Chataya's Brothel as well…

The flap of the tent was pushed aside as Stoin entered, as stoic looking as ever as he held a bag of silver Stags in his hand. He silently walked over to the two young men, who were looking at him while waving hello, and tossed the bag onto the table before standing to attention. Hof, deciding to spend some time with Duncan, sent Stoin off to a nearby village to do what he normally did; ask questions and see if there was anyone willing to work for the band of sellswords.

"How was the trip to the village? Did they have any jobs for us? Find some new recruits? Any pieces news or rumors about the realm?" Hof asked, echoed by Duncan as he too was curious as what Stoin may have learned during his time at the village.

"No job. They were all peaceful and happy. May have a job a league south at a sept if their word is correct. Recruited one person, an unemployed laborer too poor to not accept our offer. Heard some things. Some things up North, in the West, in King's Landing, and in the East. Which one do you want to hear first?" Stoin answered, his tone even and neutral like always like his stone-like expression. Duncan always wondered what Stoin was thinking, whether if he had emotions like everyone else or was as stoic as the trees themselves!

"Tell us about the North and what is happening up there."

"Heard there was a particular band of outlaws running amok parading Bolton sigils. They were doing the usual stuff bandits do: thieving, killing, raping, etc. Walder Frey has a new wife, younger than the last but what else is new? And then something about one of the Starks becoming a cripple due to an accident or something. Just know that the Stark is never going to walk again." Duncan felt a bit pity to the crippled Stark. The Westford boy could never imagine never being able to walk again! That just sounded like a cruel life to him.

"Tell us about the West."

"Only one rumor about the West. Some are whispering that the Lannister gold mines have dried out, but everyone knows that can never happen. It is the Lannisters after all! Other than that, it's the same as usual under that Tywin." Duncan saw in the corner of his eye Hof paling a bit at the reveal of the rumor. He was a Westerlander, so it could affect him seeing how that is his home region. But, those were rumors so why would Hof be worried about anything at all? Rumors were never the truth most of the time so believing in them was pointless.

"What about King's Landing?"

"Heard that Eddard Stark become the new Hand of the King for King Robert. But considering their famous friendship, it wasn't really a surprise that something like that would happen after the old Hand died. A tourney is suppose to occur sometime this week to celebrate the new Hand, but we won't make it there to compete for the prize money. Nothing else from King's Landing now." Duncan felt neutral about this bit of news. He didn't really get affected by it, nor did it seem like his comrades were affected by it either. Really, the young man wondered if Stoin was willing to talk about himself. He was one of the few people in the band that was the most mysterious, and he had a pretty big role in it as well so his mystery was even bigger. All he did was answer questions of general information and give tips on basic stuff like first aid, shooting bows, cooking, etc. Duncan wanted to learn more about him, but how? Stoin was an even bigger secret-holder than Hof was! How could he make the stoic archer speak about himself…

"What about the East?"

"Heard something about the Beggar King. Said to have sold his sister to some Dothraki warlord or something. Nothing else besides a new war between Myr and Tyrosh over trade rights to Braavos. Something stupid like that." Duncan was curious about the East, about Essos with its famous cities like Braavos. What was it like over there amidst the Dothraki, the constant wars, and other strange events and situations that made up the East? Duncan could only guess about what went on over there.

Once Stoin was done answering all of the remaining questions, simple ones like "How are you?" and "Plan on doing something later?" with curt replies only he gave back to Duncan and Hof, the stoic archer left the tent back to the two young men. Once he was gone, Hof swiftly pulled the map and began to speak about the potential job at the sept a league to the south with Duncan agreeing to most of what Hof said. It was time to get back to work helping out the common people that made up the most of the Seven Kingdom of Westeros' population, this time for those of the Seven.

Duncan always like the little moments like this, where he and Hof could just sit around and talk about things of all kinds. It made it seem like Westeros wasn't truly made out of blood. It could be about a simple time with a friend, drinks by their sides and smiles on their faces...


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: Madness and Stupidity**

When one is occupied by many things, to the point where nothing else can attract their attention, time tends to dance away much faster than one can expect. For those eager to do something, time is their greatest enemy as time itself will begin to drag its feet until the destined hour. War is the greatest offender for time to act with such flights of fancy. It will become an eternity until the day of action comes, and when the action begins it may be as quick as a few short minutes. Time is a strange creature, a being that none can hope to control nor anticipate. Truly, time can only be measured. That is the only thing the mysterious being allows all to have control over.

So it was no surprise, well it was a surprise for some, when Duncan and his band of sellswords and whores spent three months doing what they did best; which was what they normally did. They hired themselves out to the highest bidder, including noble houses now as Hof managed to successfully argue Duncan to accept such contracts after their encounter with Lord Varys, and traveled about Riverlands, Crownlands, and the fringes of the Westerlands. There was plenty of work for the band surprisingly. Hedge knights and sellswords turning to banditry, local merchants needing bodyguards while on the road, peasants burdened with problems outside their expertise, and even a few landed knights and lords requiring aid in order to collect rents and settle unruly bannermen down. Duncan and his band took all jobs that promised decent, honorable work that paid for their services.

During this time, the band grew much to Duncan and Hof's predictions. From twenty-five men they grew to forty, adding more sellswords and whores to their company's ranks. They had even recruited a band of hedge knights, four in total, along with what Hof predicts to be the biggest drain on the caravan: families. Yes, wives and children, both legitimate and not, joined the band alongside their husbands and lovers. Hof knew that they would be a drain on resources like food and time, lowering their supplies and causing the caravan to move slower than desired; along with other potential problems. Duncan, on the other hand, saw them as useful. They could help out the caravan by doing labor such as gathering wild game and plants, preparing and cooking food, keeping the camp clean and free of dirt and disease, repairing and maintaining the weapons and armor the sellswords used, and even as the rare sources of wisdom on what the band should do and how they think the band should become.

Hof argued against this logic. The band already did such labor already, and taking away chores such as those from the men would only cause a lack of discipline as they lazed about with nothing to do other than gamble, drink, whore, and very rarely train. Not only that, but there was a very real possibility that potential enemies could sneak spies and assassins into their camps and that they would be dangerous targets should the band be under attack or go into battle. They were innocent lives that had the risk of being butchered, and Hof deemed that such a danger need not be there if it was present. Duncan argued backed, saying that their warriors could focus more on fighting than labors best reserved for those much more suited for. Not only that, but he also believed that it would become eventual until one of whores was with child; which would only bring about the problem once more on a later date. Besides, it was dishonorable to cast away women and children for being "burdens" and whores with children growing in their stomach. What would the Seven think of such actions?

The two argued about this for several hours, their shouts echoing out of the command tent and throughout the camp. They very nearly came to blows several times as they passionately fought for their case, but resisted the urge to bloody each other as they knew violence would not solve a problem such as this unless all options were truly lost. When the third hour came of their fierce argument; Stoin, Dyra, and three others decided they had enough and barged into the command tent during one of the more higher climaxes of the battle. Dyra, supported by the four others, deemed that if the band was going to survive; the leadership of the band needed to be more than just two young men. As such, a "small council" of seven members, at the moment, was formed to determine the future endeavors of the band.

While Stoin and Dyra was known and had distinguished themselves early on, basically already being a part of the "council" already; the three other members had yet to be brought to Duncan's knowledge. The first "new" member is a Riverland hedge knight known as Jaddon, or more commonly known as "The Quiet." He is abnormally quiet with not being prone to talk or even utter a single sound at times, and when he does speak his tone is often faint and quiet. Hof even thought he was a mute when he first met him, only shaking or nodding his head for most of their meeting until verbally accepting the rules the Westerlander laid out for all recruits. Despite his silence, Jaddon had a sharp mind hidden with his faint voice. Along with his sharp mind, he was an expert with the jousting lance; especially while on horseback. But he didn't have a horse due to an accident on the day of his last tourney, a knight of the Reach having accidently gored Jaddon's mount after the knight's own steed stumbled. So his weapons was just a simple sword and shield just like Duncan. If there was one thing wrong with him was that he was clumsy when it came to writing, easy to stumble in hand-to-hand combat, and not skilled enough to do some chores like sewing.

The second new member to the council is Daris Falwell, the fourth son to the Westerland noble house of House Falwell. Only two moons older than Hof, Daris became a sellsword/hedge knight due to the limited prospects he faced as the fourth son of his house. With his family's sigil painted on his plate armor, a court jester in red and gold motley juggling five suns on a black field, many in the camp call his "The Fool" due to such a sigil. He clearly hates the name given to him, often scowling whenever called upon by the title, and has taken many steps to appear serious and tough to all. This has led to incidents of arguments among the men and Daris, but nothing violent so far. Armed with a two-handed greatsword, the young man seeks to earn his own name from the sigil of the fool he was born under.

The third and final new member of the band's council is a Crownlander woman simply known as Selsa "The Widow". Selsa was one of the newer whores, but she had rose to prominence with her biting rhetoric and apparently being so good in bed that most men leave her limping and numb while she can still bend and feel. She got the title due to a rumor of her past, of how she had gone through five unlucky husbands before joining the band. How she went through five husbands, many wonder but all know that they all died due to some kind of effort on Selsa's part. Whatever the case was, she was just the "feminine womanly wisdom" that the council "needs" alongside Dyra.

With the council now established, after a severe talking to by Dyra on how Duncan and Hof were acting like children, their first act was on the topic. To a five-to-two vote, Duncan's beliefs won the day and the band would now accept any and all families should they desire to join the band. As long as they worked, and trained to at least have the mere bare-bone basics of combat, they could stay. Only Daris backed Hof, which Jaddon barely whispered that was due to "Westerlander Loyalty" compared to the Riverlanders and Crownlanders that came together on Duncan's side. Such talk didn't really gather traction with the others on the council as they focused more on the new duties that the group of seven now had. But it was noticed by those with keener minds. With the topic out of the way, the band of sellswords, whores, and now families continued their work like always.

When the time neared for the nameday of Duncan Westford, Hof decided the band should take a much needed rest after working so hard for three months. Duncan and the rest of the council agreed with this, which soon had the group make their way to King's Landing. They arrived three days before Duncan's ten and sixth nameday, three days where Hof could show Duncan around the legendary capital that apparently "united" the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros in one location. Duncan thought that was hogwash. There was no way one single location could "unite" eight regions, seven of which were technically kingdoms who could potentially break away if they had the desire, power, and will to do so.

Still, they had arrived at the capital but only three would stay in the city for all three days. That would be Duncan, Hof, and Jaddon; which was understandable as Hof explained that the city wasn't the safest place for a whole lot of armed sellswords, both male and female, whores, and families full of children and wives to be in. That could attract the city's watch, known as the Gold Cloaks, and any other officials that were wary of armed warriors. Three men, two sellswords and one hedge knight, would not raise such cautious awareness if they stayed for three days.

Off to the side, Duncan asked Hof why they weren't taking someone that has been a part of the band and they trusted. Duncan even suggested that they bring Stoin with them instead of Jaddon as Stoin has been with the band for a good long time and was even a part of the council they had just set up some time ago. Hof answered back that Stoin couldn't come with them as he had some business outside of the city. When asked what kind of business, Stoin wouldn't say and firmly shut down any attempts the Westerlander tried to pry the information out of the Riverlander. It was rather strange but they trusted Stoin after everything they went through.

So, it would be three men who would attend three days in one of the greatest cities in all of Westeros. One a Westerlander with straight blonde hair, another a Riverlander with a voice of silence, and a young man becoming a man; wielding two crests for his own. Three men to survive in the city of Kings.

* * *

The first thing Duncan noticed about King's Landing was the smell. He had gotten a faint whiff of it back when they first made their camp a few leagues away but believed it to be due to some dead animals hidden in the shrubbery. When he got closer to the city, however; Duncan realized that it wasn't some dead animal that stunk but rather the city itself. He nearly got sick when he entered the city through the Gate of the Gods as he and his men passed under the dull and easy eyes of the Gold Cloaks and the disturbingly arrogant view of the dangerous Red Cloaks. As they entered the city, a small group of Stark Guards were swiftly rushing about; clearly in some kind of hurry as they made their way to the Red Keep alongside a larger group of Gold Cloaks.

After they entered the city and began to head towards the brothel Hof desired Duncan to go to, Duncan felt that something was off about the city. It felt as if the air around them was thicker than it should have been. The Westford boy felt as if something was about to happen. Something that would only end in blood, whether if came from a man's heart or a virgin's womb. Hof and Jaddon felt it as well as the two began to slow down and began to examine their surroundings. It honestly felt like the three were walking into some kind of ambush or something of that nature.

"Hof… Are you sure we should be here today? I think this may not be a good time for our desires." Duncan asked as he walked alongside his friend, his hand slowly inching itself onto his sword's pommel. With the way the Lannister Red Cloaks were looking at the Stark Guards, and vice versa, it almost felt like war was about to break out between the two groups.

"It is best that we not waste any time with our future deeds." Hof replied, putting on a fake smile as he patted the young man's shoulder. "Besides, who knows if we will get another chance like this? We best take what has been offered to us before it is taken back!" There was some truth to Hof's words. There was no real way of knowing when Duncan and his comrades could indulge themselves like this again with rich wines and fancy whores. So would it be better to take the chance while in the middle of a hidden disaster waiting to erupt or to squander it so for the chance to appear on a better day?

Whatever the answer was, Hof was determined to see Duncan with a girl in a bed by at least the end of the three days. Anything that tried to stop the Westerlander from achieving his self-made goal were obstacles destined to be taken down. As such, the trio continued their way to Chataya's Brothel as the air around grew more and more tense with ever encounter a Red Cloak had with a Stark Guard. Duncan particularly noticed one interaction between four Red Cloaks and three Stark Guards as they got onto the Street of Silk where the brothel was at. The Westford boy noticed that the younger-looking Stark Guard had a different shield than the others, one that didn't have the Stark Direwolf sigil but a sigil displaying a sword upright between four horseshoes. Was that boy from a noble family perhaps? Interesting…

"We're here! Let me see if I cannot hold a lovely girl down for you sometime in these three days. These Gold Dragons should be able to loosen their times."

"And their lips." Jaddon suddenly added onto Hof's words as the trio arrived at the front door of the brothel, a few scantily dressed whores on the balcony seductively waving and flashing their breasts at those who walked along the street. This caused a smirk to appear on Hof's face while Duncan was a bit more confused about the sudden pun his new comrade made. The three entered the brothel, and Duncan's noise was swiftly assaulted with another smell.

The smell was of spices clearly of foreign origin, one that all but blocked out the stink and filth of the city. As the three made their way to the main room of the place, stepping over a mosaic of two striking women locked in an embrace of love, Duncan felt a strange heat roam throughout his stomach and waist as he looked around. This place was certainly a lovely place, as were many of its workers, and Duncan felt somewhat confused on the feelings coming from watching such things. His Uncle Mors had told the young man on how children were made and matters such as that, but never told the Westford Boy what he would feel like during such a time like this. Actually, the actual depth Mors went into was rather simple and to the point. Duncan knew he had to stick his member into a woman's canvas and fill her womb with a liquid known as semen. That was all Duncan really knew about the act of sex and reproduction. Was it too embaressing for Mors to tell the boy about sex, or was it another matter?

As they arrived at the common room, full of patrons, whores, and other workers not as appealing but certainly needed; Duncan noticed a rather handsome woman of clear foreign origin saunter up to the three. Her rich black skin and sandalwood eyes made Duncan think that she may be from some land like the Summer Isles his Uncle told him about in stories or during his lessons about the world. The Westford boy suddenly felt very uncomfortable with his belt as he felt his member strain against the confines of his pants. He never really had a problem like this before other than during winter mornings. He would have to excuse himself and try to figure out how to remove such a problem before having sex.

"Hello... I am Chataya. What do three men such as yourselves desire in my pillow house? I think I can guess." Chataya spoke with an accent, confirming for Duncan that the woman was indeed foreign. Were all foreign women such as Chataya as exotic and handsome as her? If so, then how could most men in the Seven Kingdoms be content with the women of their regions? Then again, they may not have the resources or will to find such a woman.

At the prompted question, Hof placed his hand on Duncan's back and pushed him to the front. "His ten and sixth nameday is nearly here and I desire him to be with a woman before or on that day. We have plenty of gold for your ladies, so I would wish to have him lose the flower of his innocence here."

Chataya nodded at Hof's words, a small chuckle coming from her as she placed her hands onto Duncan's shoulders. The young man's ears began to turn red at the rather nice smell that came off of her, and how her outfit outlined curves that Duncan's member desired. "What noble friends you have, Ser. I think I may have a few girls willing to take guests at the moment. All I must ask is if you would like one of my heritage, or one with hair of gold and skin that of porcelain?"

"P-Porcelain? That sounds lovely, b-b-but I think I would-" As Duncan blushed and stuttered out his desires while his mind fogged up from primal desire, a loud noise erupted from outside. It was the sound of bells chiming. Of bells reserved for war or times of great distress. The noise snapped Duncan out of his haze and caused the young man to look to his comrades. They too were perplexed by the sudden noise as they turned to look towards the outside of the city. Swiftly following the bells were the sounds of screams, and of battle.

The trio of sellswords swiftly left the brothel to find pitched battle occuring on the very streets of King's Landing. Lannister Red Cloaks and Gold Cloaks fought side-by-side against Stark Guards and peasants that either had a grudge to solve with the Gold Cloaks or were loyal to the Northmen. It was pure chaos soaked in blood. What could have caused this madness? This stupidity of violence and death? It did not matter as there was no way for Duncan, Hof, or Jaddon to try to stop this madness. As such, the three drew their blades and began to find a way out of the city by any means necessary.

It wasn't long before the three were set upon by riotous peasants armed with rocks and stolen weapons. Duncan was forced to fight three of them at once, using his shield to keep the murderous men back from crushing his head in with their makeshift weapons. Thankfully they scattered after Duncan cut off one of their comrade's hands. He glanced to see how his allies were doing, and breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed that neither Hof or Jaddon were injured nor no longer set upon by rioters.

This pattern of being set upon while they made their way out of the city would occur multiple times, thankfully always ending in their victory. A few times it would be a close call when they were set upon by properly trained soldiers like Gold Cloaks, and on occasion Stark Guards. Only the Red Cloaks did not attack them, focusing purely on the Northmen and the Northmen only. It was as if they had express orders to cut down the Stark Guards above all other things. The Gold Cloaks aided the Lannisters, but it was clear from the chaos of the streets that they were becoming confused and just lashing out at anything that came their way.

Eventually, the three sellswords made it back out of the Gate of the Gods. The three were covered in minor cuts and bruises after cutting their way out of the city, but were mainly alive. Not only that, but the chaos that was happening inside the city was starting to stop as the Lannisters and Gold Cloaks were beginning to emerge victorious. The Northmen were slaughtered to a man and the peasants that aided them were either dead, being beaten or dragged away to be either taken prisoner or killed, or had fled when the battle had turned sour. By all accounts, it was a total Lannister-Gold Cloak victory.

However, as the three sellswords caught their breath before they started to get back to their camp, Duncan noticed the sounds of battle not too far away from the gate. It seemed to be coming from stables near the gates, and it seemed to be very much pitched. Curious, the Westford boy walked over to investigate while Hof and Jaddon bound their wounds. He saw a young Stark Guard fighting off three Gold Cloaks all by himself, clearly wounded and barely staying alive under the onslaught of his opponents. He then noticed the Northman's shield, a sigil displaying a sword upright between four horseshoes, and realized that it was the same Stark Guard that he had seen before him and his friends had entered the brothel!

A noble in danger often meant a good reward for those who aid them, and Duncan knew that Hof would throw himself into the fray to save the Northman due to that connection. The young man knew that was the most sensible reason to save the Stark Guard, but Duncan wanted to save the young boy because it feels like the right thing to do. He would get laughed at by many of the people in the band, but he knew that his Uncle would be proud of him. That is what Duncan thinks Mors would probably think.

The Westford boy charged into the fray, slamming into one of the Gold Cloaks as he was about to spear the Northman in the side. The surprised guard harshly fell to the ground, his weapon rolling off to the side, and was too stunned to react before Duncan rammed his sword through the Gold Cloak's chest; using the Valyrian Steel to pierce through the Gold Cloak's mail armor.

After pulling his blade from the man's chest, he swung around and blocked a swing of the second Gold Cloak's iron club with his shield while the Northman charged the last golden guard to cut him down. Duncan pushed his opponent back, watching the man fall onto his back, and swung forward to cut the Gold Cloak's throat. The attack once again met flesh, and the second Gold Cloak died by the Westford boy's hand. Duncan had thought that the Gold Cloaks were properly trained warriors like those found in the Banners of the nobles. These Gold Cloaks were little more than poorly trained brutes given equipment they knew enough to use but not enough to be efficient in. Duncan's own sellswords were much better trained than them, and they were sellswords! What a sad excuse of men…

The Westford boy turned to look at the Northman, only to stop when the bloodsoaked blade of the Stark Guard pressed itself against his throat. The wounded Northman was panting heavily as he said "W-Why did you help me, Westerlander?! Why did you not help your bastards in the City Watch?"

Duncan was confused by the Northman believing him to be a Westerlander. He had been raised in the Riverlands, so he was a Riverlander if he was correct. As such, Duncan replied and said "I'm from the Riverlands. I hold no blood relations to the Westerlands in any way."

"You carry the sigil of not one, but two Houses that are under the Lion's yolk! I'll be damned if you aren't a Westerlander!"

"I do?"

"You don't know?! You carry the sigil of House Sarwyck, rulers of Riverspring, and of House Westford, a dead house of former landed knights. Sarwyck is under the direct command of Tywin just as Westford once was! By all accounts, you are a Westerlander unless you stole that shield and cloth." Duncan couldn't really believe the Northman's words. His Uncle Mors was a landed knight in service to Tywin? His dead friend was from the family that ruled Riverspring? What in the Crone's name did his Uncle keep secret from the Westford boy?!

"...I am just a sellsword. I use this shield and wear this cloth for it is all I have." Duncan decided to speak a half-truth. While he was the ward of his deceased Uncle Mors, an apparent Westerlander knight, he was also a sellsword now and they were literally what he owned for the most part. Does that make him a noble of a dead House turned to mercenary work to survive? Duncan would have to ask Hof on the specifics on it later. For now, he had to convince the Northman to not kill him.

Thankfully, Duncan didn't need to convince the Stark Guard for the Northman soon had two swords pointing at him; curiosity of Hof and Jaddon who had finally decided to join them. It was a few tense moments of silence as the Northman looked at the new arrivals and at Duncan, seemingly gauging his chances to fight three more opponents, before he sighed and dropped his sword to the ground in surrender.

Hof swiftly bashed the man across the head with the flat of his blade, knocking out the Northman, and Jaddon grabbed him before he could land on the ground. As Jaddon began to bind both the Stark Guard's limbs and wounds, Hof turned onto Duncan and slapped the Westford boy across his face. "What in the Seven Hells were you thinking going off alone?! If we hadn't noticed you had left when we did, you would breathing blood than aid!"

Duncan, wincing as a red mark appeared on his cheek, said "If I didn't, the Northman would be dead by now! He's a noble of some kind. We can get a reward for saving him! Besides, you guys would have come for me. I trusted you all to do so."

"You did and it worked out this time, but don't do so again without assurances! Who knows if your allies will just leave you for dead one day? I can't be there for everything you know!"

"If you aren't there, then I'll be dead anyways!"

"You're tougher than-"

"Can you two stop arguing for one moment?" Jaddon finally said, clearly annoyed at the two as he applied the last of the bandages on the Northman's wounds. "We best get clear of the city seeing how we've slain these three men, and we've kidnapped a noble of the Ironsmith House, though they are Northman. It will only take a few Red Cloaks to cut us down, so I suggest we leave right now." The quiet hedge knight had a point. They were in a rather incriminating position and they were literally at the gates of a city full of Lannister Red Cloaks that were far more skilled than the Gold Cloaks.

"He has a point… We'll continue this later." Hof muttered to Duncan, turning away to swiftly loot the three Gold Cloaks of any coins they may have while the Westford boy went to help Jaddon carry the unconscious Northman. After a quick bit of looting, the three sellswords swiftly fled from King's Landing with a captive Northman noble in tow; each of them having a thought in their mind. One had the thoughts of ransom on his mind. Another had the thoughts of a new recruit on his mind. And the final one had thoughts of how this act may lead to something that may affect the Brigade in his minds.

What was supposed to be a day of merriment and fun was turned into one of madness and stupidity. It would not take long before news reached the sellsword band on what caused the chaos in King's Landing.

King Robert Baratheon, the Usurper and the man who killed Rhaegar Targaryan, is dead from a hunting accident. His Hand and friend, Eddard Stark, apparently attempted to usurp the Iron Throne from Joffrey Baratheon in a coup that was supposed to be supported by bribes to the Gold Cloaks and the Master of Coin. The bribes failed, leading to the failure of the coup and the capture of Eddard Stark.

Even Duncan knew that Westeros was standing on a keen edge knife, and it only took one step for the entire continent to be thrown into war once again.

* * *

**So. It has been nearly an entire year since I last updated this fanfiction. I'll be honest when I say the problems have been mostly on my end, minus a few things. I have been far too busy and lacking the motivation to sit down and write out a chapter of this story. I've also had my Plot Outline get corrupted, forcing me to remake it from scratch, and my computer being broken so I was forced to switch to a different computer. I have neglected this fanfiction and the people who have read, followed, favorited, and reviewed it.**

**However, my situation has been improved to the point where I can now sit down and properly continue this story. I understand that those who have been waiting have every right to be mad at me, and that they have every right to walk away from this fanfiction. I just hope that those who remain will continue to support me as I write this fanfiction in anyway they see fit.**

**I plan on releasing another chapter soon, roughly a few days from now, and I am in the process of writing it as you are reading the current chapter right now. I hope to see you all there.**


	10. Chapter 10

_**Chapter Ten: Questions of Old Blood**_

It had been a week since the failed coup in King's Landing, and Duncan had much on his mind since then. He came of age during that time, becoming ten and six, and he didn't really feel all that different from how he felt like while he was ten and five. He had also participated in his first real prisoner negotiations, which he had mixed feelings about. Was it dishonorable to be taken prisoner? Was it dishonorable to ask for a ransom for a prisoner? Hof had assured him that unless they were selling a man into slavery or killing the man after receiving the ransom, taking prisoners and holding them ransom was not dishonorable. The Westford still had reservations about it, but he could not argue with the justification Hof made.

Speaking of Hof, Duncan wondered about the man. He was a Westerlander if his appearance and mannerisms were to be correct. Duncan wondered if he knew more information about the sigils the Westford boy carried. He knew that his Uncle, and by extension himself, were Westfords. Their sigil was a black dog's head on a field of blue. He knew that their Words were "Death Over Dishonor", a phrase that Duncan tried very hard to live by. He knew that his shield's sigil was his Uncle Mors' old friend's sigil. It was a broken sword on a field of red. He didn't know the words nor what family it came from. All Duncan knew that it was once a possession of his Uncle's old friend.

But when the Northman, who they found out to be named Onef Ironsmith, revealed that the sigils Duncan carried were not only from the Westerland but noble Houses under the direct command of Tywin; he wondered once more about his Uncle's secretive past. The shield's sigil he now knew was from the House Sarwyck. That was all he knew really thanks to the exchange he had with the Northman a while back. Then there was the Westford House. Apparently, by all official accounts which Duncan asked for by Hof, the House died shortly after Robert's Rebellion due to the House either being dead or having joined a group known as the "Night's Watch." Apparently they were warriors in the far North on this structure made entirely out of ice called "The Wall", and it was filled with the dregs of society. Duncan didn't know much about that group but he had a feeling that they were connected to the Black Men that attacked him and Uncle Mors during his childhood. Did his Uncle do something to anger the Night's Watch, or was it something else? Had he been a part of the Watch? If so, why did he leave?

And then there was the situation with Onef Ironsmith. Onef was a son of the Ironsmith House, a minor noble family that lived in the North. When he had been taken prisoner a week ago, he had not made it easy for the sellswords in many ways. He often spat at them, insulted them and their families, swore violence against anyone related to the Lannisters in any way, tried to run away, tried to harm the people guarding him, and many other things that have made most of the sellswords think that maybe it was a mistake to take this Northman prisoner. Seven Hells, he had made some of his guards beat him, swear off guarding him, or both after just one guard shift around him! Even Jaddon, the normally reserved and quiet one, was just about to ram a dagger through the man's head had it not been for Daris and Stoin holding the hedge knight back. As such, he was cornered off in a lone tent away from the main camp; tied around a wooden stake planted in the ground. Even Duncan had been asked to guard the prisoner, though he had been far too busy with Hof and the Council.

That was changing today as it was Duncan's turn to guard Onef for the next few hours. He had best relieve Dyra, apparently the one currently guarding him according to Selsa, before she makes the Northman a eunuch!

* * *

"Dyra. You can go now." Duncan said out loud as he entered the tent, equipped with only his Valyrian Steel sword for this turn of guard duty. He noticed the young woman scowling, playing around with her short blade as the battered Northman glared at her; one eye half shut from a black eye he had received yesterday. Great… What in the Seven did Onef say to Dyra today? Duncan needed to placate the woman before she left, so he said "I'll spar with you after I'm done and once lunch is made. How does that sound?"

"Good for me, I reckon…" The Riverlander growled out, sheathing her blade as she made her way out of the tent. As she passed the Westford boy, he swore he heard her mutter "...I'll cut his cock off, I swear…" Looks like it was going to be a more bruised filled sparring session this time around, whether it was for Duncan, Dyra, or both; that was to be seen.

"And so the leader of this merry band of murderers, thieves, and rapists has decided to come and keep me company! How humbling of such an occasion it is for me…" Onef growled out at Duncan, the sarcasm in his voice thick and so thinly veiled that even Duncan knew what it was.

"Look… Hof is trying to-" Duncan started to explain that his friend was trying to find a way to contact Onef's family to ask for ransom, something like a few dozen Gold Dragons, when the Northman snarled like a rabid wolf.

"You mean that Lannister scum with his piss colored hair and that pig-faced look! May the Old and New Gods spit on him and his bloodline!"

"Hof isn't a Lannister. He is just from the Westerlands. Anyways, he is-"

"I know shit when I see it just like I know a Lannister, and he is Lannister shit. I bet he is scheming behind everyone's back to have the Mountain come here to mount my head on a spike just so he could fuck that whore of a Queen!" Duncan was a bit stunned at the blatant hatred against the Queen-Mother. How loyal were these Northmen to that Stark fellow?

"What makes you so sure he is a Lannister? Many Westerlanders have blonde hair and a similar face. He could be from Riverspring rather than Casterly Rock." Duncan pointed out, only earning a scoff from the Northman.

"There is no way a Lannister from the Rock would be associating with commoners like this, unless he was like that Imp! He must be from their other disgusting pile of filth in Lannisport. Yes… They always have spares in that damn hive that they shat out. He's a Lannister from Lannisport!" Onef sounded so sure, so dedicated to what he was saying that Duncan had a small part in the back of his mind wanted to believe him. But, Duncan needed evidence and Hof's own words for such an accusation to be truthful. "Then again, you won't even question it seeing how you're twice as loyal to them with those two Houses you carry about!"

"What is so important about the sigils I own? What is their history with the Lannisters and what do you know of them?"

"Ha! To think that fool so blind to his loyalty would not even know of the people he fights for and the colors he parades! Why on earth should I tell a Lannister cock-sucker what I know?"

"Because I can give you freedom to go and do what you wish to do."

"And if I wish to slit your throat and make a cup out of your fucking skull?!"

"You could go and do so, but not without a fight."

"Swear upon the Old Gods and New that you will let me go free if I tell you want you ask of me."

"I, Duncan, swear upon the Old Gods and New that you will be set free if you tell me what I ask of you."

Onef glared at Duncan for a few tense moments, his mind clearly mulling over what had just been said. Eventually, he said "House Sarwyck are the rulers of a town known as Riverspring situated near the source of the Blackwater Rush. Apparently that makes a river that runs from the Westerlands to Blackwater Bay. Despite the location, the town itself is rather poor for a Westerland holding, and the Sarwyck House itself only has one member left; the man being Ryman Sarwyck, the former captain of the guard. They apparently had correspondence with the Queen-Whore, most notably with one Alester Sarwyck and their bastard half-brother Valarr Hill, before most of its family was slain during the first few years of Robert's reign. That included Alester and Valarr apparently as they found their bodies in the throne room, Valarr apparently sitting on the Iron Throne himself!" So that was the sigil Duncan's shield was blazened with? House Sarwyck, a minor noble House that was in decline with only a dying town and one member to its name. If that was the case, then why did his Uncle own a shield from them? Were they close friends, close enough that they could just take each others equipment without any hassle? Duncan had plenty of questions, and he had a good amount of time to get many answered.

"House Westford used to be a House of landed knights in personal service to the Lannisters, just like the Hound and the Mountain are. Apparently it died when it's ruler, Mors Westford, left to join the Night's Watch after Robert's Rebellion and his family was slaughtered by bandits according to the monster Tywin. I bet both of my eyes that Tywin was responsible for killing his family! That cowardly cat could never handle something when someone decides on their own." So his Uncle Mors was a part of the Night's Watch! But, why? Why would he willingly join a group full of murderers, thieves, and rapists? And he had a family?! Why didn't he talk about them? Was it too painful for him to speak of the family he once had? ...Was that the reason why his Uncle hated the Lannisters so much? Did Tywin really kill his Uncle's family?

"Were the two Houses close to each other? If they were close, did they ever marry into each other?" Duncan asked the Northman, clearly eager to hear the truth so he could figure out more about his Uncle's past and maybe something of Duncan's as well.

"From what I learned, Mors and Alester were rather close comrades in Robert's Rebellion. Other than that the two Houses had nothing to do with each other. Maybe they had a bastard child kept hidden away? Maybe the two men were lovers? Maybe Tywin had the Sarwycks kill the Westfords? Or, maybe nothing secretive happened between the two. All I know is what my maester taught me and what I learned on my own. If you want to learn more about them, why not go and ask that Sarwyck still roaming Riverspring? I imagine he knows more than me!" That cleared up a lot of things for Duncan, but also gave him more questions. His Uncle Mors spoke of a close friend, and the Westford boy believes that close friend was Alester. If that was the case, then why did his Uncle take Alester's shield? Duncan had every right to believe that the shield he possessed was once Alester's. After all, his Uncle said it had come from a dear friend of his, and apparently his dear friend was the now dead Alester. So why did his Uncle steal the dead man's shield and take it for his own? Why didn't he send it back to Alester's remaining family? Wouldn't it have been honorable to do so?! Why did his Uncle take Alester's shield?!

And then there was that idea Onef offered out. A bastard of both Houses, kept secret from all as the person's blood coursed with Sarwyck and Westford blood. It made Duncan wonder about something. He wondered about his parents. Truthfully, the young man knew nothing of the people that had sired him. All he had known all of his life up until he had turned ten and five was his Uncle Mors. There was no one else that Duncan knew that was connected to him in any way like his Uncle. Whenever he asked his Uncle about it, all he would get nothing from the scarred man. Was Duncan a bastard of both families? Was Mors protecting him from those that may want to see him dead? If so, then who did those Black Men serve if they were not connected to the Night's Watch? If they were a part of the Night's Watch and he was not a bastard of both Houses, then why was he given the sigils of two families? Could it have been for practical reasons, like simply giving him a shield to use, or could it have been a clue the Westford boy could use to discover his true parentage? What on earth was his Uncle thinking before he forced the young man away from their home?!

Duncan sighed as he scratched his brow, his head beginning to ache from all of the thoughts that raged in his mind. So many new questions to find answers to. So many ideas and theories to fit in with the secrets that elude him. He needed to ask Hof if they could go to Riverspring during the Council Meeting tomorrow. Maybe he could get some of those mysteries solved from the mouth of Ryman Sarwyck.

"So? Anyone more questions out of you, or is that all you have of me? If so, I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain."

"And I will do so. I refuse to dishonor myself, especially after swearing it upon both the Old and New Gods." Onef laughed at Duncan's answer, genuinely and honestly laughed as one of the Westford boy's eyebrows shot up in confusion at the Northman's mirth.

"Ha! A Westerlander believing and partaking in honor. What a joke!"

* * *

**So. I hope you enjoyed this chapter this time around. It was a bit shorter than some of the other chapters I have written, but I hope that it doesn't have lesser quality. Before I go and begin writing the next chapter, I should respond to some reviews. If you don't want to go through my answers, then I hope you all have a good time on until we meet again!**

**Yifto: Sorry for such a long wait, but I am glad you are enjoying this story. As for where Duncan's Uncle got the Valyrian Steel blade and whether or not Hof or Stoin may be spies, I'm afraid you'll have to wait and see! I can't spoil such things sadly.**

**Ser Mors Westford the butcher: I'm glad that you are trying to figure out who Duncan's parents are! It will be a rather distressing event for Duncan as he gets closer and closer to finding out the truth. So I hope you'll stick with this story to see it!**

**Herr Dunkelheit: I am glad it wasn't such a long of a wait for you. I am indeed back for a good long while, or until my situation becomes terrible once again. Until such things can happen, I'm going to be writing this fanfiction!**

**Set Andromeda: I am glad that you are enjoying the interactions between the characters. I rather enjoy writing their interactions, especially Duncan and Hof. As a slight spoiler for the next chapter, Duncan will be engaging more with Daris and Selsa in the chapter instead of mainly Hof. Hof will have a key part in it, no doubt, but will partain more towards the two others mostly.**

**Guest 1?: Thank you for the criticism. I will admit, my fanfiction does feel a bit too clean for Game of Thrones. Duncan also does feel like a Gary Stu at times as well. I will attempt to make the story feel a bit more "dirty" in the sense of it being a Game of Thrones fanfiction. As for Duncan's character, I only ask that you wait and see Duncan's character grow as the story continues as he will be faced with many events that will shake his very being.**

**Guest 2?: Thank you for similar criticism that the other Guest gave me. I will attempt to make my story better so it can feel more like a proper Game of Thrones fanfiction, and that Duncan is not so much of a Gary Stu.**


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